


We All Make Our Choices (the only way to win is not to play)

by Shoulder_Devil



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Bad Ending, Body Horror, Boneturning, CYOA, Canon-Typical Violence, Drowning, Everyone dies at least once, Everyone lives, Eye Trauma, Fire, Forced Memories, Gen, I promise, Kidnapping, Major character death - Freeform, Nothing bad happens to the Admiral, Season 3 AU, Secret Ending, and sometimes - Freeform, basically a pile of "what if" AUs, canon minor character death, except the Admiral, good ending, including a coffee shop AU, it’s not all dark, non-linear storytelling, rqbb2019, very bad ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-13 16:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 38,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/pseuds/Shoulder_Devil
Summary: A fic written in the style of a choose your own adventure book set primarily in season 3 with a variety of choices as Jon and Team Archives work together (or don't) to assemble a team as they attempt to take down Elias, many of which end badly.A variety of decisions lets you follow the characters to eleven different endings. Can you find them all?This fic can get pretty dark in places and therefore has relevant content warnings noted in the notes at the end of the chapters where they appear.Written for the Rusty Quill Big Bang 2019Artwork by Gabbi(Thaddeus-lich)can be foundHEREUpdated to add new artwork by Meredith(KingOuija)right overHERE





	1. 1 - START HERE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets a job offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to my wonderful artists, Gabbi and Meredith, who have both been an absolute delight. 
> 
> You can find Gabbi's work as Thaddeus-lich on Tumblr  
And Meredith's work at [KingOuija](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOuija/pseuds/KingOuija)
> 
> Also special thanks to my beta, kyky25 for swooping in last minute very helpful feedback and to fix my many (many) crimes against punctuation.
> 
> The chapters in this fic are not intended to be read linearly. Please follow the instructions at the bottom of each chapter on where to go next. View Entire Work option not recommended

His alarm went off at 6:00am every morning without fail. Not that there was anywhere for him to be this Wednesday morning, Jonathan Sims graduated from university last month and had yet to secure steady employment. He hoped he would be able to keep his job as tutor, unfortunately those positions were reserved for students, of which he no longer was. They would happily keep him on as a volunteer but the funding that allowed him to receive a paycheque expired the previous week. 

The early summer sun was already pouring in through his window even at this hour. Before long the flat he shared with two other (former) classmates would be stifling hot, especially his small bedroom. Jon silenced the alarm and considered returning to sleep while it was still cool enough to do so. Tempting, but it wouldn’t do to let himself fall back into old habits. No, better to get up and start his day. 

Neither of his flatmates were awake yet. Philip’s summer course didn’t start until nearly noon and Kelly was enjoying the downtime before his internship began on Monday. Jon busied himself tidying the kitchen while waiting for the kettle to boil. One of them had put the milk back empty again (Philip, if he had to guess). While looking for a pen to air his latest grievances via fridge door memo he came across a pile of his mail near the bin. He idly flipped through; some junk mail, the electric bill, and-- hang on a letter from the Magnus Institute. 

Minor flatmate squabbles forgotten, Jon carefully cut open the envelope and braced himself for another rejection letter.

> Jonathan Sims,
> 
> We at the Magnus Institute would like to offer you a Research Associate position. Please contact Rosie Walton at your earliest convenience to schedule a start date. Be sure to bring two forms of identification from the attached list… 

The rest of the letter passed in a blur such that Jon had to read it a second time to take in the details. Finally, a job! The salary wasn’t great but better than expected for an entry level position at an academic institution. 

Applying to the Magnus Institute had been a long shot. Truth be told he wasn’t even sure if he wanted the job. On the one hand, it wasn’t exactly a respected institution in the academic community. Having it on his resume could seriously hinder any future prospects depending on the career path he chose. On the other, a sense of desperate curiosity filled him when he thought of studying the supernatural in an academic setting. Real cases were exceedingly rare but he knew from experience that there was more to the world than most people saw. 

It was too early for him to call about the offer, the Institute wouldn’t be open for at least a few more hours. Jon stuck the letter to the fridge with a magnet and went back to his bedroom with his mug of tea. 

In the half hour he’d been awake the temperature in his room had climbed by several degrees. Not for the first time Jon mentally kicked himself for picking the room with the east facing window. He angled the fan from his bed to his desk and sat down at his ancient desktop computer. 

“Please wake up,” he mumbled under his breath, shaking the mouse. 

Jon breathed a sigh of relief when the computer’s fan spun up with a low whine and the monitor switched on from sleep mode. The second hand computer had chugged steadily along through four years of university, though the last few months it had been struggling more and more. With any luck it would last him long enough for his first paycheque and he could afford to replace it. 

_ Well, second paycheque, _ he amended when he saw the date.  _ Rent is due on the first. Christ, this is just in time. _

Jon typed ‘The Magnus Institute’ into the search bar and took a sip of his tea while he waited for the results to load. He winced slightly at the taste, two sugars and no milk- thanks  _ Philip. _ A few mouse clicks later and Jon had confirmed the Institute opened at 10:00am. Someone might be answering phones before then but Jon didn’t want to appear overeager. He flipped open his phone and set an alarm for 10:34. That seemed like a suitable time, late enough not to be too eager, early enough not to seem disinterested, and random enough not to appear neurotic. 

The irony of that last thought followed him back to the kitchen where he saw Kelly skimming over Jon’s offer letter. He offered a low whistle when he got to the bit about salary. 

“Not bad, Jon, congratulations on the offer.” Kelly pulled a face like he’d eaten something sour. The Magnus Institute though? Are you sure you want that on your résumé? They’ve got a bit of a… reputation.” 

Jon snatched the letter from his judgmental flatmate. “I’ll thank you not to read my mail.” 

Kelly held up his hands, “You’re the one who tacked it to the fridge. If you like, I’m sure I have some gold star stickers in a drawer somewhere.” He gestured to his room. “I can go get one. Then we can go out for ice cream to properly celebrate!” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Jon shot back. Though the thought of ice cream was appealing in this heat. He might treat himself to some later this afternoon. He found Rosie’s number on the letter and punched it into his phone.

“Woah, you’re not calling now are you? It’s barely half seven.” 

“Of course not, I’m saving the number to my phone. I don’t want to lose it before I have a chance to call.” 

“Fair enough,” Kelly admitted. After a beat, he continued, “Are you planning on accepting? It’s not exactly a solid foundation to build a career.”

Jon pressed his lips into a line and let out a long breath through his nose. “I haven’t been drowning in job prospects. I’ve been putting out applications for months, this is the first actual offer I’ve gotten. And I’m sure you and Philip would appreciate it if I continued to pay rent.” 

“Very true.” He nodded. “But if money is your concern, Sarah works at the bookshop down the way, says they’re hiring. I bet she could put in a good word for you.”

“I don’t know--” 

“It doesn’t have to be permanent, just something to get by on until you find something better. Think about it.”

Jon watched the tea swirl in his mug as he toyed with the handle. He downed the last of it with a grimace. He had a decision to make. 

  
  


If you want Jon to apply at the bookshop: [Proceed to chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806135#workskin)

If you want Jon to accept the offer at the Magnus Institute: [Jump to chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806288#workskin)


	2. 2 - Bookshop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets comfortable

Working at a bookshop was actually quite enjoyable (they’d hired him on the spot when he’d shown up about the position). He continued to send out applications elsewhere but with less and less frequency. Organizing the stock and keeping it in order was more satisfying than he had imagined. Sure there was the occasional rude or messy customer but those were relatively few and far between. 

Years passed and Jon settled in. He was promoted to shift lead, then to manager. When the owner decided to open a location in London, Jon happily accepted the job she offered and moved to the city to run it. 

The cafe in the front of the shop was popular enough to support the rent on the space that a bookstore alone likely wouldn't have earned. Jon was a competent barista so he could help out where needed but preferred the quiet, tucked away corner where they kept the used books. 

A few months after they’d opened, a customer in a leather jacket, poorly dyed hair, and an assortment of visible tattoos asked after the used books counter. He had a few titles on a list but was looking for anything with a very specific bookplate that still haunted Jon’s nightmares. If he saw Jon pale at the question he had enough tact to ignore it. 

The man slipped Jon a business card and told him to contact him if he ever came across any used books marked in that fashion. He promised to pay quite a sum of money if it were “legitimate”. Jon ripped up the card and threw it in the bin as soon as the door closed behind Mr. Gerard Keay from Pinhole Books. 

After that, Jon insisted he personally inspect any used volume the store acquired before it went to the shelves. He would have preferred to be the only one to work the buy counter but that just wasn’t possible with a store of this size and his other duties as manager. 

Years passed with nary a mention of Jergen Leitner or any of his books and eventually Jon’s paranoia waned. Every now and then Jon would see an employee ID badge with the silhouetted owl logo of the Magnus Institute on some of his customers. Jonathan Sims, store manager of the Cover to Cover Cafe and Bookshop, London, handed a coffee over to one such gentleman and wondered what might have been if he had accepted that job offer so long ago. 

End of Branch

To go back and accept the job offer at the Magnus Institute: [Proceed to chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806288#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only way to win is not to play


	3. 3 - Welcome to the Magnus Institute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon starts a job  
Tim does some pranks  
The Archivist finds a body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

Jon forced himself to wait until 10:37 to call and accept the job at the Magnus Institute. Rosie set him up with all of the paperwork he would need, and there was a lot of paperwork. The Institute Head, a Mr. Elias Bouchard, and the Head of Research- whose name escaped him at the moment- treated Jon to lunch at an upscale cafe in Chelsea. Jon was thankful he had worn his second nicest button down shirt and slacks (his nicest were reserved for weddings, funerals, and the occasional job interview). 

Just like that, the day was over and Jon hadn’t even started work yet. Everything after was a bit of a blur. They set him up to shadow another researcher, Tim Stoker, for the first week which was fine by him. Honestly, he felt a bit out of his depth but Tim’s easy smile and relaxed attitude put him at ease in his new workplace. 

Tim had just finished giving Jon a tour of the building (including the tucked away storeroom with an overstuffed couch hidden behind a set of shelves) when the question burning on his lips became too much. 

“This is going to sound stupid, but who is our boss?” Tim choked back a laugh but Jon continued before he could speak. “I didn’t catch his name when we were introduced. He didn’t have a nameplate on his desk or door and now it feels too late to ask.” 

Tim forced the amusement from his face with some difficulty. “You really want to know his name?” 

The tone of voice Tim used put Jon on edge so he proceeded carefully. “Yes, I would. He’s our boss, I should know his name.” Jon’s eyes narrowed in confusion as Tim fought off a fresh wave of giggles. “I feel like I’m missing something here.” 

“Other than our boss’s name.” 

“Yes, clearly,” Jon bristled. “What is  _ so _ funny? I’m not the only person who’s ever forgotten a name.” 

“You can’t forget something you never knew.” 

“That’s precisely why I’m asking!” 

“You’ll need to ask someone who knows.” 

“Knows what?”

“His name.” 

Jon crossed his arms and leveled his gaze at Tim. “And you don’t--” He decided to try another approach. “How long have you worked here?”

“Two years in February.” 

“Right, and you don’t know your own department head’s name?”

Tim leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “No one does. I don’t know a single person here who does. Except for Elias maybe but I’m not going to ask him.”

“That’s--” 

“Like you said, it’s not on his desk, not the door to his office, he doesn’t use email so I’ve never seen it there. Anything official only has his title and a completely illegible signature. Our best guess is that is first name starts with an A, but even that might be wrong.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

“This is the Magnus Institute. We collect spooky things and sometimes spooky things happen here.”

“I  _ hate _ that word,” Jon mumbled under his breath.

“You get used to it.” Tim clapped him on the back and lead him back to their office. 

\----

Steven. The Head of Research was named Dr. Steven Boswell. Not that Jon knew it for the first two months he worked under the man. Tim had somehow managed to spread the word to the rest of the researchers and even the library staff who were all more than happy to get in on the joke. It would have gone on for longer if Tim had gotten to the new hire before he did. Sasha gave him the most puzzled look when he took her aside and asked her if she knew their boss’s name like it was the answer to some final test before she could start her new job in Artefact Storage. 

\---

It took Jon a while to really integrate with the rest of the research team. His tendencies leaned to the introverted side of the scale and being the butt of a joke (especially one the rest of them were in on for so long) rankled his pride. For his part, Tim seemed apologetic for singling him out so early on and agreed not to make Jon the sole target of his pranks again. 

“No promises on group pranks though,” he’d said with a sparkle in his eye. 

“Good lord. Are you planning something with the screaming head in Artefact Storage again?” 

Tim put on an air of innocence. “A gentleman would never kiss and tell.” 

“You’ve  _ kissed _ it!? What are--”

“What? No! That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s in Artefact Storage for a reason! It’s dangerous,” Jon continued.

“Oh, Walter’s not dangerous.” He waved Jon’s concerns away. “He’s just loud.”

“You’ve named it?” Jon ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly, Tim.”

“Maybe stay out of the break room fridge for the next few hours.”

“Tim--” 

“But that won’t be a problem because you’re joining the rest of us for lunch, right?” 

“I have a lot of work to catch up on with these jewelry store robberies.” 

“It’ll be there when you get back. Besides, my treat. I owe you that at least.” 

\---

The Institute kept a file on Jurgen Leitner and the books that once comprised his library. A whole drawer would be more accurate as a single folder couldn’t contain the evil that man wrought into the world. While computers were common enough among the staff, most of the Institute’s files were still kept as hard copy. Digital backups had been in the works for some time but were a low priority to researchers set in their ways. Jon took it upon himself to create the backup for the Leitner file.

\---

The promotion to Head Archivist was a surprise but not an unpleasant one. He enjoyed his time as a researcher but something about the statements in the Archive called to him, not that he would admit it. The place was a mess but Jon had always found cataloguing and organizing to be soothing tasks. And he was going to need something soothing after the last statement he recorded. 

\---

It was getting harder and harder to deny something was happening to him. The dreams certainly didn’t help things but dreams are just that-- dreams. They happen rarely enough he can usually brush off the unease by the time he leaves for work.

Jon wasn’t convinced that it was the statements themselves causing it. He’d dealt with plenty of statements in his time as a researcher and never been affected in the way he was now. Most of them consisted entirely of falsehoods or delusions but some of them… Well he knew for a  _ fact _ the statements in Leitner’s file were legitimate. 

The Archives then, it must interact with the statements somehow, make them come alive for him as he read them. The more Jon thought about it, the stronger the feeling of being watched, the itch on the back of his neck, became. Best not to dwell on such things and get on with his work. 

Jon hesitated before reaching for the recorder. “Don’t be silly, Jonathan,” he whispered to himself. 

He shook off the feeling of dread and hit the record button. “Statement of Father Edwin Burroughs, regarding his claimed demonic possession...” 

\---

Having Martin living in the Archives wasn’t nearly the burden Jon worried it would be. In fact, it gave him something to which he could attribute the near constant feeling of being watched. Not that he thought Martin was spying on him. It was just that there was always at least one other person in the Archives at any given time. That must be it.

Also the worms. 

At first, Jon thought Martin was being overly paranoid but Sasha mentioned seeing them on her way into the Institute. Then he started seeing them too. Not in the Institute yet, thank god, but there were plenty squirming in the damp after the all too frequent rain. 

At least this ‘Michael’ whoever-- or rather whatever-- he was, seemed to be on their side. 

\---

Jon crouched in the bushes outside Tim’s building and scratched absently at the cluster of scars on his leg. He really should have stretched. He would pay for it in physical therapy tomorrow, but for now he would wait and watch.

\---

The tapes Elias gave him were grainy and gave way to frequent lines of static. Jon tossed his glasses on the desk in front of him and scrubbed a hand over his face. Everyone was accounted for, so he had to have missed something. He  _ knew  _ it. Someone at the Institute killed Gertrude, but who?

Rubbing his face only exacerbated the itch in his eye. He should stop before he did further damage. It had been bothering him on and off for days but if something had gotten in there, he couldn’t find it. It was the wrong time of year for his allergies to be flaring up. Maybe it was all the dust in the Archives, or from his time spent exploring (getting lost) in the tunnels. 

Jon gave up on scratching and blinked the resulting tears from his eye. Back to the matter at hand. He swapped the tape for another on the pile; it didn’t matter which one. He’d watched them all more than enough times to know he won’t find anything, but he  _ had to keep looking _ . 

\---

“That’ll be forty pounds fifty-three.” 

Jon slid over three twenty pound notes to the woman behind the counter. He accepted his change and clutched his purchase through the bag. 

“Be careful where you swing that thing, yeah?”

“Don’t worry, I will.” 

\---

“Oh god… I need to… uh... I, um..” 

There was so much blood. The morbid part of Jon’s brain supplied him with the fact that the human body holds roughly five litres of blood. His knees started to buckle. Five litres looked like ten when it was the blood of the man he was talking to not five minutes past. 

The Archivist looked down to see the toe of his shoe just barely touching the widening pool of thick crimson. He stood frozen while possibilities for how the rest of his life flashed through his head. 

He couldn’t stay. Could he? No, of course not, he’d be blamed for this… this  _ slaughter _ . The pipe he had found in the tunnels and carried with him for defense lay beside Leitner’s corpse, covered in blood, hair, and Jon’s fingerprints. It was too much of a risk to retrieve it, going into hiding would be easier if he wasn’t covered in someone else’s blood. 

Despite everything that happened-- the table, Michael’s corridors, Sasha no-  _ Not _ Sasha, and now this-- the thing that pulled at Jon’s chest was the questions left unanswered. He might not ever get those answers if he left. 

Leitner’s blood continued to pool around the Archivist’s shoe. He needed to move it before it spread farther but he couldn’t seem to move. He should stay. Should he? Guilty people run, that’s what they’ll say. 

If you think Jon should stay: [Proceed to chapter 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806453#workskin)

If you think he should run: [ Jump to chapter 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806576#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: canon-typical Leitner’s death


	4. 4 - Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon decides to stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

There was no possible version of this that ended well for him, he knew that. He’d been behaving erratically for months, Tim had filed multiple complaints, and Sasha-- 

God, Sasha. How was he going to tell them…

_ Breathe, Jon. Stop, think, and breathe. _

Guilty people run. Despite whatever guilt Jon carried with him, he was not guilty of murder. He couldn’t panic, he had to stay calm.

_ Breathe, just breathe-- Good lord, the smell _ . Jon choked back a mouthful of bile and backed out of his office for fresher air. He couldn’t decide if he should wait until someone found him or go for help (not that there was much to help at this point now that Leitner’s blood was seeping into the floorboards, staining them indelibly with his failures--)

The creak someone on the stairs pulled Jon from his spiraling thoughts, making his decision for him. Elias descended into the Archives with an officer, no, a detective on his heels. 

“Jon, there you are. There was an alarm triggered in Artefact Storage and we thought there might be-- Jon, are you quite alright? You look--”

“Bouchard, stop.” Daisy’s voice cut him off. “Back away from him.” 

Elias paused, confused. “Detective, this is Jonathan Sims, our Head Archivist. He works down here.” 

“Uh-huh, and is he meant to be leaving bloody footprints behind him?” She turned to face Jon fully, placing a warning hand on her baton. “Jonathan Sims. Stay where you are and put your hands in the air.” 

Jon’s thoughts scattered, he couldn’t think. “I-- I didn’t-- he found me in the tunnels. There was--” 

“Hands. In the air, Sims. Do it now.” Her voice left no room for argument. 

“I, um… I-- what?” Jon said, raising his shaking hands above his head. “Someone must have followed--”

Daisy pulled a set of handcuffs from her belt. “You don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you don’t mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

“Now detective,” Elias protested, “Is that really necessary?” 

“I don’t tell you how to do your job and you don’t tell me how to do mine.” 

The hand around his arm finally pushed the reality of the situation into Jon’s brain. He pulled free from her grasp and took a step back. “Now just a minute, there’s been some kind of misunderstanding! I found him like this. I didn’t kill him!”

Daisy recaptured his wrist with a stronger grip this time and wrenched it behind his back much harder than necessary. “That’s for the court to decide.” Elias made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Something funny, Bouchard?”

“Not at all, Detective. I’m sure your… court will be more than fair.” 

Something passed between them that Jon couldn’t quite catch but whatever it was it made Daisy angry enough to take it out on Jon as she manhandled him up the stairs. 

“Elias, I didn-” Jon started. 

“I know, Jon.” He smiled sadly. “Don’t worry, this will all be over soon.” 

The finality of Elias’s words, the disappointment that laced through them, landed like lead in the pit of his stomach. Daisy jerked his arm forward, forcing Jon to stumble to avoid crashing to his knees before he could form a response. 

“Detective.” Elias’s eyes went cold and she met them without flinching. “Try and be quick about it, at least.” 

She held his gaze for a beat before scoffing. “Sure, maybe.” 

[Continue to chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806495#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: descriptions of gore


	5. 5 - Driving Miss Daisy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a lovely afternoon for a drive through the forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

It didn’t surprise him that Daisy was an aggressive driver. More than once he flinched as she passed a vehicle too closely or took a turn too quickly. He bit his lip and held back any concerns for their safety. 

Eventually through his fear and shock Jon noticed they were headed farther and farther away from London. They were headed north to Epping Forest. Epping Forest where Daisy took vampires to kill them. Jon did his best to clamp down on the adrenaline surging through him. 

“Epping Forest?” He couldn't stop the question from slipping out of his mouth. “Why?”

“To kill a monster,” Daisy growled after a pause. 

Jon let that sink in. He thought of the thing that wasn’t Sasha chasing him in the tunnels, how Leitner killed it and then something else killed him soon after. The Archivist pulled in a shaky breath, “I- I can’t help you. I di- It wasn’t-” 

_ Blood dripping steadily from the mangled remains of Jurgan Leitner, pooling in an ever widening sea so dark red it was nearly black.  _

He shook away the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. “I haven’t... killed anything before.” The laugh Daisy barked startled him back in his seat, pushing on the too-tight handcuffs. “What’s so funny?” he demanded, suddenly indignant. 

“You.” She made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Can it, Sims, or I’ll pull over and shove you in the boot after all.” He avoided the look she gave him in the rearview in favor of watching the trees pass by his window. 

A few minutes later Daisy turned down an overgrown gravel path. The sun was low along the horizon but she had yet to switch on her headlamps. She pulled the car to a stop into a small clearing and killed the engine. 

She pulled him from the vehicle and pushed him ahead of her through the trees. A root snagged his foot sending him down on a knee. Daisy didn’t even pause, grabbing a fistful of his shirt between his shoulder blades and hauling him to his feet with surprising strength. 

“Move.” 

Jon shrugged free of her grip and took a step forward. “Hiking through the woods would be easier if I weren’t wearing handcuffs.” 

“Alright then.” Daisy dug into her pocket for the keys. 

“Oh.” He hadn’t expected that to work. “Th- thank you.” Jon flexed his fingers as the circulation returned to his hands. “So...” He peered into the trees. “What kind of monster are we killing?”

Daisy coughed out another dry laugh. “What do you think this is?” 

_ Running through the tunnels. Darkness. Followed. Something, something, something behind him. It shifts when he catches a glimpse of it. The singsong call of his name echoing along the stone-- _

“Wait, am I? Am I the bait?” The red of the setting sun reflected the hunger in her eyes and cast her features in sharp relief. “Oh…Oh, but I- I’m not--”

“Run.” 

Jon stumbled back a step. “What?”

“I said run.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Jon froze in panic with his back pressed against a tree. 

Daisy crossed the distance between them with the speed and grace of a wolf. Her hand clamped across his neck, squeezing the air out of him. “I thought I’d give you a sporting chance but if you’re not going to take it…” 

Jon struggled against the taller woman, scrabbling at the hands around his throat. The vice-like grip didn’t budge under his panicked clawing. Spots danced in the edges of his vision and his limbs were getting heavy. 

“Daisy, please,” he choked out. 

“Don’t, just- just don’t.” It didn’t seem possible but her hands squeezed tighter. “Do you know what it’s like? To have your secrets  _ pulled out _ like teeth, just because you asked?” 

Daisy’s grip was too strong for the Archivist to gurgle a response. He wasn’t sure what she was talking about, she had made her statement willingly. All the statements were voluntary, weren’t they? He tried to shake his head, to plead with his eyes,  _ anything _ to stop her from killing him.

“I’m going to make sure no one else has to find out,” she snarled. “One less  _ freak _ in the world.” 

Jon’s arms fell to his side. His legs were no longer capable of supporting his weight and he slumped back against the tree. His world was going dark, filled with the sound of blood rushing in his ears. The only thing that kept him from falling were Daisy’s hands tight around his neck. 

She kept squeezing long after the light had gone from the Archivist’s eyes. 

End of Branch

To try again from the most recent branch point: [Return to chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806288#workskin) or [Jump to chapter 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806576#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: major character death, canon-typical violence, strangulation


	6. 6 - Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nope, can't stay there

A wave of nausea crested over Jon and he stumbled back out of the room to fresher air. One step led to two, and two to three. Before he knew it, Jon found himself staring across a park, miles away from the Institute, lighting what must have been his third cigarette with shaking hands. He pulled in a deep drag and held the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could stand it. His breath strained against his chest until he let it out, hoping it would take some of the stress wrapped tightly around him with it. 

Jon stared at the wood grain of Georgie’s door like he was trying to divine his future in the whorls and pits. If he didn’t at least knock eventually a neighbor was going to get suspicious and call the police. That was the last thing Jon needed right now. 

He steeled himself and rapped three times on the door in quick succession. He almost hoped no one was home. It would probably be better for Georgie if she wasn’t. The muscles in his stomach clenched when he heard the sound of movement coming from inside the flat; the creak of old couch springs and the padding of socked feet across hardwood. 

There was a peephole but Gerogie didn’t check it before throwing open the door with an air of annoyance. “Yes, what is-- Jon!” She took a step back in surprise. “What are you doing here? I--” She pulled the robe she was wearing over her pajamas closed tighter across her chest. “Are you alright?”

“Hi, Georgie. I’m, um… I--” His nervous smile had a touch of mania as he tried a different approach. “How are you?”

\---

The manila envelope felt heavy in his hands. It had arrived three days ago and Jon had spent nearly every waking moment since researching Chloe Ashburt and the events surrounding her encounter with the mannequin at Fanton’s department store. He barely ate and only slept when he nodded off at the kitchen table into his notes. 

Georgie was  _ not _ happy about it. First about Jon giving out her address then even more so when he explained that he hadn’t told anyone where he was staying. At least she didn’t notice the lack of postmark. 

A craving itched at the back of Jon’s throat; nothing he did seemed to touch it. It had been building steadily since before the statement arrived but after he’d made his own statement. As much as he agreed with Georgie that they were dangerous (just not in the way she thought,) it took a real effort to pull himself away. 

“Can I at least have my table back to eat, Jon?” Georgie asked after a long day of dead ends in his research.

Her voice startled him from his thoughts. “What? Oh, of course. I’m sorry. Give me a moment and I’ll get it cleared up.”

“Let me help.” 

“No!” Jon caught himself before he slapped Georgie’s hand away. “I, uhm...” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I- I’m not sure what came over me.” Jon coughed again to compose himself. “It’s fine, I’ll clear the table.”

“Ooookay.” Georgie took a slow step back, putting her hands up like she was trying to soothe a feral animal. 

“It’s just that I, um, that I know where everything is. It looks random but it’s in a specific order.” 

Georgie gave him an indulgent nod. “I’ll just grab the plates then while you clean up.”

“I- yes, thank you. Wait, plates? Plural?” 

“Yeah, I made us dinner. I had some stew meat in the freezer I’d been meaning to thaw for a while.”

“You didn’t have to go to the trouble,” Jon protested. “I can manage on my own.” 

Georgie scoffed. “Clearly, you can’t.”

“That’s not true! I’ll have you know--” 

“Besides, it’s no trouble. I wanted stew so I made myself stew. It just so happens there is more than enough for you to have some too.” 

“Georgie--”

“And plenty for lunch tomorrow as well.” 

“I- thank you, Georgie.” Jon busied himself organizing his stack of papers.

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t had a chance to taste it.” 

He looked up with a faint smile. “I have eaten your cooking before, you know.” 

“If you thought I used a lot of garlic then,” she laughed. “Well let’s just say neither of us will need to worry about vampires for a while.” 

_ That’s not how vampires work.  _ “There is no such thing as too much garlic,” he said instead.

Georgie set the plates on the table and set the silverware next to them. “You say that now…”

\---

The meal helped clear his head but not as much as he had hoped. Not wanting to break the fragile peace, Jon reluctantly agreed to try and get some actual sleep. (“In a bed this time, Jon. Naps on the kitchen table don’t count!”) Jon’s mind worried at Chloe’s statement trying to discern a reason that particular tale of supernatural encounter had been delivered to his (well, Georgie’s) doorstep. 

Sleep wouldn’t come. His notes were sitting on a shelf next to his recorder in the living room. He could go get them but if the muted sounds of the telly were anything to go by, Georgie and the Admiral were curled up on the sofa midway through some kind of Netflix binge or another. 

Georgie kept odd hours, something that Jon never really noticed until now. It was three in the morning and she was still in the living room watching TV. God he was exhausted. He laid back and stared at the patterned stucco ceiling until his eyes lost focus. 

\--- 

He was having the dream again: Dr. Elliott, in a surgical theater surrounded on all sides by students holding beating, bleeding hearts. The blood flowed toward him in sluggish spurts that filled the air with a copper sharpness. He stared at Jon, accusing him of somehow trapping him here. As if Jon wanted to be reminded of coagulating blood dripping from the crushed head of--

Jon woke with a start. The Admiral had bedded down beside him during the night and made a noise of protest at being disturbed. He stretched out his back legs and clawed at Jon’s stomach through the thick comforter. 

“I’m sorry, Admiral.” Jon petted along his back and scratched under the orange fur of his chin as a peace offering. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. Shouldn’t you be in Georgie’s room?”

The Admiral gave a short meow and then settled onto Jon’s chest, kneading the fabric and rumbling out a deep purr. “I can’t get up if you’re sitting on my chest. It looks like you’ve trapped me here.” 

Jon let his head fall back with a sigh and tried not to think about the statement still waiting for him in the living room.

\--- 

“Please, Georgie, I just need… I need to record it. That’s all. Then it’s done.” 

Georgie stood with her hands on her hips, watching Jon. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Georgie, I- yes. Yes, I’m sure.” 

She shook her head. “You sound an awful lot more like someone getting pulled deeper into something bad than you do someone climbing out.”

“I just need to put this all behind me,” Jon started.

“Then do that, then!” Georgie threw her hands up and let them fall back against her thighs with a slap. “Chuck that in the bin and start now.” 

“I can’t just--” 

“This is the exact same conversation we had when you quit smoking for what, the fifth time? When did you start back up again, by the way?” 

Jon’s hackles rose and he fought to keep from yelling. “This isn’t the same, and that’s not fair.” 

“I’m not judging you for that. I’m judging you for this.” She smacked the back of her hand against the stack of papers Jon held. “I just-” Georgie ran a hand through her hair and clenched it at the nape of her neck before releasing it with a frustrated sigh. “I need to get some air. You go ahead and do what you want.” She turned on her heel and grabbed her coat. 

“You always said that’s what I’m best at.” Jon said with a self deprecating laugh in a desperate attempt to inject some levity into the room. 

“Yeah.” Georgie paused the door before opening it. She sounded more sad than angry. “Just be careful, okay?” 

If you want Jon to read the statement: [Proceed to chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806711#workskin)

If you don’t want him to read it: [Jump to chapter 8](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806738#workskin)


	7. 7 - To Read

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon just has to know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

He tried to tell himself that each recording was the last, that he would somehow still walk away from this whole thing. At least until Gertrude’s tape showed up and the calliope music that followed. It wasn’t something he could escape, whatever “it” was, he was in too deep for that. Jon was afraid but as long as he was a part of whatever this was, he had to know. He needed access to the Institute’s resources. Swallowing his pride, he contacted Melanie and set up a meeting in a cafe. 

\---

Every involuntary twitch of his fingers sent bright flares of agony spiking up his arm. He’d found some unused entryway in an alley to curl around himself and wait for the worst of the pain to fade. 

Jon had nearly gotten used to the constant dull throb of pain beating in time with his heart. Pain meant the nerves hadn’t been cooked to ash so he tried to take it as a good sign. He might even regain full use of the hand one day. There would be a nasty scar though. 

_ You know what they say, “no scars, no stories.”  _ A laugh that sounded more like a sob burst from Jon’s throat at the thought.  _ I’m certainly not lacking in either. _

Ms. Perry may have lied about the handshake but she handed over the address readily enough. She even offered to write it down for him since he couldn’t manage to hold a pen, poor dear. He clutched the singed scrap of paper in his unburned hand and considered his next move.

\---

He really should have taken Mike up on that cuppa. People don’t like having their stories forced out of them and it would have been easier to hear without the wind rushing in his ears. 

\---

Mike’s head rested heavily in Jon’s lap as Daisy drove the two of them out of the city proper. If it weren’t for the slow trickle of blood oozing from his scalp, Jon might have been able to convince himself the other man was simply asleep (or dead).

_ Dead men don’t bleed, they leak.  _

Thick branches of Epping Forest grew clustered from single trunks like massive hands with too many fingers pushed forth from the earth. They had been trapped at the wrist and rendered into wood; a warning for every monster under the bed or lurking in the dark places not to reach too far. 

Daisy looked like she belonged here, hunting beasts in the wood with her own fangs and claws sharp and ready for blood. The detective’s uniform and the human skin beneath it looked more and more like a poor fitting disguise the deeper they went. 

She halted in a small clearing surrounded by gnarled trees, looking absolutely at home. “This is it.”

Jon took the opportunity to lower Mike to the ground and catch his breath. Mike wasn’t a large man but Jon wasn’t accustomed to bodily carrying another person through the woods; let alone without the use of one of his hands. He did his best to ignore the finality in her voice. 

“So…” Jon swallowed and tried to keep the fear from his voice. “So what now? You kill us?”

\---

If the drive to Epping Forest had been tense the ride back to London was worse. Daisy and Basira weren’t talking to each other-- weren’t even looking at each other. Any time it looked like Jon might have even  _ thought _ about opening his mouth, Daisy shot a warning glare into the rearview. 

The cuts and bruises Daisy had given him and the burns from Ms. Perry were healing faster than they had any right to and itched like mad because of it. He resisted the urge to scratch, best not to make any sudden movements from the backseat with Daisy behind the wheel. 

Hopefully whatever healing power seemed to be developing along with his ability to compel could handle infections. He was filthy. Covered in sweat and grime from trudging through the forest and the effort of disposing of Mike’s body. 

Jon just wanted this day to be over. A shower would be nice too. Maybe he should have let Daisy shove him in the boot of her car, the ride may well actually have been a good deal more comfortable.

\---

_ Jon, what does human even mean? I mean, really? _

Elias’s words hung as heavily over Jon as he descended the stairs from Elias’s second floor office to the Archives in the basement. He was running on fumes; he hadn’t eaten a proper meal since he’d left Georgie’s days ago and the adrenaline had taken him as far as it was going to. A crash was coming, it was not a matter of if, but when (soon) and how hard (very). If he was lucky there was still half a bottle of painkillers in his desk drawer. 

Jon did not feel lucky.

He barely even registered Martin hovering anxiously outside his office. 

“Jon?” Martin asked again, stepping more fully in front of him. “Jon, are you alright?”

The Archivist looked dully up at Martin, blinking slowly in an effort to bring the world into focus. It was too late for the medication to prevent it. The migraine was already building behind his eyes. “Do I look alright?” The rasp in his voice made the words harsher than he intended sending Martin back a step. 

“No, you look like you tried to fight a bag of flaming garbage and lost, more than once. Oh, god- I’m sorry, that was rude. I- I didn’t mean-”

“No, Martin,  _ I’m _ sorry.” 

“For what?” The puzzled look in his eyes shifted to realization. “Wait, w- was that?” 

“I think so,” Jon sighed. 

“Oh. Okay then.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah.” 

Martin chewed on the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say next. Jon broke the silence with a slight cough that turned to something more painful by the time he’d finished. Martin reached out a hand to offer aid but Jon waved it away. 

“I’m fine.” He let out a final cough. “Really, Martin, I’ll be alright. It’s already much better than it was.” Jon’s nihilistic smile came across more like a wince and he muttered, “Not sure if that’s a good thing though.”

Martin hesitated, eyes flicking back and forth between Jon’s face and the statement in his hand, regarding it like some kind of venomous creature. “Did Elias give you that?”

“If you must know, yes.” Jon bristled. “I’d really like to get to work on it as soon as possible.” 

“Jon...” Martin’s eyes softened as he pleaded. “They’re not good for you. They’re dangerous.” 

The Archivist clutched the file tighter, suddenly worried Martin might steal it from him. He tamped down on the paranoia threatening to boil over and forced himself to relax somewhat. “I’m well aware of that but this is my job and I need to do it.”

“You’ve been gone for months, it can wait another few minutes. Please? Don’t shut us-- shut me out. Not again.” 

“I-- you know what? Fine.” Jon let out a long breath. He was so tired of fighting and he could spare a few minutes now to avoid the trouble of coming back in later.

“Right, so…” Martin trailed off, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Jon cocked his head slightly to the left and waited for him to continue. “Sorry, it’s just-- Well I didn’t expect to get this far or if I did that you would be more…” He gestured vaguely. “Argumentative?” 

“Honestly, Martin, it’s been a very long week-- long year. I’m exhausted and that’s not likely to change anytime soon. So say what you need to say and I’ll be on my way.” 

“That! That right there is exactly what we need to talk about.” 

Jon took a confused step back. “I’m not sure I understand?” 

“You keep pulling away, not telling us things. That needs to stop. We’re in this together, Jon, and we need to do something about it  _ together.” _

“There are things out there--” 

“I  _ know that! _ Don’t you think we  _ all _ know that by now? Jane Prentiss trapped me in my apartment for weeks. I wandered corridors to nowhere with Tim for longer than it should have taken the both of us to starve to death. You’re not the only one who’s faced what’s out there. Wandering off by ourselves is only going to get us all killed faster.” Martin paused and looked at his shoes, deflated. “Or worse.”

Jon had been so wrapped up in his own world that he’d all but forgotten Prentiss had targeted Martin first. It all seemed so long ago, back when he could pretend the supernatural threats in the world were few and far between. 

“I’m sorry. I had no idea about you and Tim. Is he…”

“Not any better since before you left. Worse actually.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

Jon fidgeted with the corner of his folder. “And things here?” 

“Not great. With Sasha gone--” his voice cracked slightly and he leaned back against the wall. “Tim disappeared for a few weeks, wasn’t answering texts or email. I went by his flat, nothing. I was on my way to file a missing person’s report when Elias stopped me- told me Tim would be back the next day.” 

“Did something happen to him? Like with you and…”

“No.” Martin shook his head. “Nothing like that. He said something about an ‘unauthorized holiday’. Must have gotten a nasty case of food poisoning while he was gone by the look of him. But that’s just a guess since no one around here will  _ talk to me! _ ” _ _

“Right, you’ve made your point. I’ll try and… keep you in the loop? Is that what you want?” 

“Yes! Well, no. It’s more than that actually. There is something more going on here than those- those… things!” Jon flinched away when Martin tapped the statement in his hand.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to piece together,” Jon insisted.

“Then let’s get all of the pieces in one place.”

“I- Fine. What are you suggesting?”

“We need to get everyone and meet up somewhere.”

“Not here though.” Jon glanced in the direction of Elias’s office above them. “Elias might be watching.” 

“Maybe a pub?” Martin suggested. 

“I could do with a drink.”

“Great!” 

“You need to get them all there though.” 

Martin’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“I’m more likely to drive Tim further away if I talk to him on my own,” Jon admitted. “The same is probably true with Melanie. If this is going to happen, you’re going to need to get them all there.” 

“Right. I think I can manage Melanie, Tim, and probably Basira… I’m not sure about Daisy though.” 

“Not Daisy.” 

“But I thought--” 

“Not. Daisy.” Jon cut him off, massaging his throat with a far off look. “She’d sooner kill us than help any of us.” 

Martin narrowed his eyes. “I thought that now Basira is…” He trailed off when he saw Jon’s hand hadn’t left his neck. Jon realised it too and deliberately lowered his hand. “Not Daisy,” Martin agreed. “When should I…? 

“Not tonight, I need to record this.” 

“Jon!” 

“I need to play along with Elias. And don’t give me that look, it’s just for now, until we can... figure out something better. Anyway, I’m in desperate need of a shower.

“Alright, you have a point.” Martin blew out a long breath. “I guess I’ll see if I can find Tim, I’ll message you the time and place. Try and get some rest, Jon.” 

“I’ll try.”

\---

Jon was exhausted. Every facet of him completely drained. Mr. Chang’s statement, then Georgie’s after everything with Mike and Daisy and Elias… 

It had all been too much. He’d barely managed to convince Georgie that he didn’t need to go to the hospital. She’d followed him to his bed to make sure he didn’t collapse on the way, though Jon suspected it was more so she could verify he actually went to bed and didn’t wander off.

He dreamed of a fog covered cemetery full of yawning graves. A certainty settled into the hollow in his chest-- if he fell into one of them, no one would ever find him or mourn his loss. He would be lost, forsaken, forgotten. He watched Ms. Herne struggle with the beckoning call of oblivion and felt it’s echo reflected through her. 

A piercing noise cut through the fog jolting Jon from the moor back into Georgie’s flat. He blinked awake and groped for his glasses and phone on the side table.  _ Wrong hand!  _ Jon bit back a cry of pain as his burnt fingers barked against the wood. Clearly the painkillers Georgie had given him had worn off in the night. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and held it until the urge to scream had passed. 

Jon’s phone chirped again for his attention. He fumbled with his glasses, getting them settled before checking his messages. Martin had texted with the time and the name of the pub where they would be. Or at least he tried to, autocorrect had made a mess of the message. A clarified version had come in a few minutes later complete with an emoji meant to convey embarrassment or a sheepish apology. 

Something about the light in his room seemed off. Jon checked the time on his phone and was surprised to see that he’d slept through the night and most of the day. He must have really been out of it if he slept through Georgie making breakfast. (She was on a protein shake kick lately and her blender made quite the racket.)

The meeting Martin had prepared was sooner than he anticipated. Jon wasn’t sure he had the energy to deal with everyone just yet. Or maybe ever. He made a good argument but Jon wasn’t convinced Martin had the right of it. Wouldn’t it be safer for everyone if he just stayed away? He couldn’t keep them from getting involved but at the very least he could minimize it. 

By the time Jon had gotten himself out of bed and eaten something he was exhausted all over again. Maybe it was the painkillers kicking in. 

Jon rinsed off the plate he’d used to microwave some leftovers he’d found in the back of Georgie’s fridge and put it in the drying rack. With his good hand, he splashed some water in his face in an effort to wake up. He twisted off the tap and combed the water through his hair with his fingers. He was as awake as he was going to get.

If you want Jon to go back to bed and miss the meeting: [Jump to chapter 10](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806909#workskin)

If you want Jon to meet up with the rest of Team Archives: [Jump to chapter 15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47825245#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: canon minor character death 


	8. 8 - Not to Read

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it might be better not to know

Georgie came home to find Jon desperately trying to air out her smoke filled flat. She bent down to scoop up the Admiral before he could bolt out of the open door. “What did you  _ do!?” _

“I, uh… I did what you said?”

“I didn’t tell you to burn down my flat.” 

Jon grinned sheepishly. “No, I- I burned it. The statement, I mean. But, well...” He coughed lightly and proceeded to wave more smoke away.

Georgie’s eyes widened in sudden understanding “Christ, the fireplace! It’s only decorative!” 

“Well I know that  _ now.” _

“It’s probably been bricked up longer than either of us has been alive.” All of the anger deflated out of her as she turned into the living room. 

“Yes, well.” Jon flustered. “On the upside I didn’t catch anything on fire that I didn’t intend to.” 

“Thanks for that.” 

“More smoke that I expected though,” Jon mused. 

The corner of Georgie’s mouth quirked up into something close to a smile. “Jonathan Sims, I’m proud of you.” He shot her a confused look. “Not for trying to burn down my flat, mind you.” 

Jon busied himself by the window and ducked his head to hide the blush creeping into his cheeks. 

Two days later the next statement arrived. 

If you want Jon to read a statement after all: [Jump to chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806711#workskin)

If you want him to ignore it: [Proceed to chapter 9](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806837#workskin)


	9. 9 - Ignore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

Jon was sick, not that he would admit it. He wasn’t running a fever-- Georgie insisted on checking and Jon was too tired to offer much in the way of protest. It was fortunate that he didn’t have anywhere else to be at the moment. He doubted he could handle the walk to the nearest tube station even if he wanted to go anywhere. (Hiding from the police made going out on the town difficult.)

When Georgie was around, Jon made a show of being awake and active (more or less) for her benefit. She clearly wasn’t buying it so he wasn’t sure why he bothered. He allowed himself to sleep when she was recording WTG? or out somewhere. The dreams were getting worse and he didn’t want to worry her if he woke up screaming. 

If more statements had come in since the second one, Jon hadn’t seen them. Every morning Georgie would seem more irritable than usual. Jon didn’t question it, he didn’t have the energy for an argument. He didn’t have the energy for anything really. He felt like he was somehow fading away, like bits of himself had gone hollow.

There was a nagging sensation in the back of his brain, the craving that hadn’t died down, that if he would just read a statement or maybe even track one down himself, he would feel better. 

Maybe if he went on an interview with Georgie… 

No, of course not! First of all, she would never tolerate him underfoot on one of her ghost hunts. Not after the last time years ago. Secondly, if she dealt with the living, it was mostly kooks and crackpots. The kind of people that filled his long neglected discredited section in the Archives (that he no longer worked for). He wasn’t likely to get a decent story out of anyone and very likely to burn bridges between Georgie and her links in the paranormal community (such as it was.)

He was committed to getting past this. It had to get better soon. 

\---

Georgie found Jon unconscious on the floor of the guest room. Actually the Admiral found him, sat on Jon’s back and cried until Georgie had come in to see what all the fuss was about. He didn’t look like he had hurt himself and he was already starting to come around when she crouched down next to him to check the pulse point in his neck. 

“Yes, Admiral,” Jon mumbled into the floor. “I- I know you’re hungry. Just… give me a few…” He trailed off with a groan. 

“Jon?” Georgie’s voice was soft, worried.

“Hmm?” Jon cracked his eyes open and lifted his head slightly. “Georgie, am I-- am I on the floor?”

“I told you you needed to go to hospital.” 

Jon curled in on himself with a faint whine. “I can’t do that.” 

_ “Why?” _ God, he was stubborn. “Jon, you’re ill.” 

“I- I just need…” His brow creased then relaxed. “I’m sure I’ll be better in the morning.” 

“That’s what you said yesterday. And the day before that.” 

Jon collected his arms under him and pushed up with a groan. Georgie steadied him until he was settled sitting up with his back against the side of the bed. “If I go to the hospital, they’ll find me.” 

“If you don’t go to the hospital you could _ die.” _She looked up to the ceiling for help. Finding none, her eyes tracked down to meet Jon’s. “They already know where you are. I’ve been getting envelopes twice a day for the last three days.”

“Christ.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Come on.” She hooked an arm around his waist to help Jon more or less to his feet. “Get dressed, we’re going.” 

“Georgie--” 

“You either come with me willingly or I wait until you pass out again and I call an ambulance to haul you away.” 

“I--” He didn’t have enough energy to argue and he deflated with a sigh. “Fine.” 

Georgie crossed her arms, satisfied she’d managed to out stubborn him. “Good.” 

\---

If Jon’s only problem had been a stalker sending him the statements, he would have gone to the hospital readily enough days ago. Georgie didn’t know he was very likely wanted for murder and he wasn’t in any hurry to tell her. 

He’d overstayed his welcome, it was time to go. Now that he was awake and upright, he felt a bit better. He could hear Georgie digging though the closet in her bedroom, if he timed it right he could sneak out the door without her even knowing he’d gone. 

Two steps from the door the Admiral headbutted his shin and proceeded to thread through his legs. “I know. I’ll miss you too, but I have to go.”   
  
“Mreow?” 

“It’s safer for everyone. I’ve stayed far longer than I should have.” 

A purr rumbled through the Admiral as he rubbed his side along Jon’s leg then pawed at his jeans. “Okay, fine. One quick ear scratch and then I have to go.” Jon crouched down and the Admiral practically climbed into his lap. “Right, okay, I really have to go.” 

Jon pushed himself to standing and the world promptly tilted forty degrees to the left. He managed to catch himself on the wall and took a steadying breath, willing his legs not to collapse out from under him. They didn’t listen and Jon fell in a barely controlled heap to the floor. 

\---

A white paneled ceiling greeted Jon upon waking. He closed his eyes against the harsh fluorescent light and noticed the antiseptic tang to the air. The muffled beeping of machinery confirmed his assessment, he was in the hospital. 

_ Shit. _

Someone shifted in a chair beside him and he turned to look. Cracking his eyes open more slowly this time, he saw Georgie slouched in a molded plastic chair with her feet propped up on it’s twin. She was two thirds of the way through a paperback adorned with a pair of pale hands holding an apple on a black background.

Georgie’s eyes met his from over her book. “Don’t look at me like that! You had your backpack loaded, you were trying to bail on me.”

“That’s not--” Jon started.

“I warned you I’d call an ambulance if you wouldn’t go willingly. I follow through on my threats, Jon.” 

Jon pressed his lips together and waited, doing his best to calm his features. 

Georgie marked her place in the book and set it down with a roll of her eyes. “What is it? I can tell it’s killing you, out with it.” 

“It’s not that, it’s…” For all his effort, Jon wasn’t able to keep a corner of his mouth from twitching upward. “Really, Georgie, _ Twilight? _ I’d thought you had better taste than that.” 

“Someone left it in the waiting room!”

“Abandoned, more likely.” 

“Well if someone had given me time to grab something from my own shelf before collapsing in an unresponsive heap--”

Jon held his hand up to stop the argument and admit defeat. “I’m only teasing.” 

“I’m glad to see your brain hasn’t leaked so fully out of your ears that you can still make jokes.” Her expression turned serious. “How do you feel?”

“Groggy. Dizzy when I move my head at all.” Jon admitted, he was well past the point of lying to her. He leaned back into the pillows and stared at the ceiling. “Everything hurts in this dull, faraway pulse like something distant and unseen is feeding on what makes me- I don’t know, me.”

“Jesus,” Georgie whispered.

“I feel like I should be terrified but I’m too exhausted to muster enough energy to feel fear.” 

A look crossed Georgie’s face Jon couldn’t identify. She almost looked startled but something like anger or determination rushed in to replace it. Whatever it was, he seemed to have struck a nerve. 

“I’m sorry, Georgie. I didn’t mean to…” 

“No. It’s fine.” She brushed off her hands and extracted herself from her chair. “I just remembered something I need to do.” Her expression softened and she brushed a strand of hair from his face. “Clearly you caught a case of the Purple Prose. It’s spread to the brain and you’re dying of Melodrama.”

“Ha ha,” he said dryly, fighting back a smile.

“In all seriousness, you rest. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Okay?”

Jon nodded and closed his eyes. “Alright, see you in the morning.” 

\---

He was dreaming of the M6 again. The rain poured down in cold sheets, soaking through his clothes. It should make him shiver but instead he stood and watched as Detective Alice “Daisy” Tonner looks into the open coffin on the side of the road. If not for the slight rise and fall of her shoulders with every breath, Jon would have thought she might be a static image. 

It felt like an eternity standing there, rivulets of rain tracking down his glasses but never obscuring his vision. He ignored the trickle of water that snaked down his back. It wasn’t as important as watching.

As watching.

As _ watching. _

Daisy’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting Jon’s for a split second before she began to run directly at him.

\--

Jon awoke with a gasp. His jerk forward was halted by a metal cuff closed around his left wrist, anchoring him to the frame of the hospital bed. It took him a moment to come back to himself enough for the reality of the situation to sink in. 

A bored looking man in a police uniform sat in the chair Georgie had occupied when he was last awake, flipping through the book she’d left behind. He tossed it down with relief when he saw that Jon was awake, only to quickly flip it over so Jon couldn’t see the front cover. The officer flushed red when Jon cocked an eyebrow and shot a glance to the battered paperback.

“The telly’s broken,” he said by way of excuse, “and it was already in the room.” 

Jon’s sage nod turned into a wince and hiss of pain as the room sloshed to one side with the movement. Once his head had settled, Jon tugged weakly on his cuffed hand and asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure, officer…?”

“Altman,” he finished. 

Curiosity itched on the tip of Jon’s tongue. He was only barely aware of asking if Altman had heard of Section 31. The officer sat up straighter and fixed Jon with a suspicious look. 

“I have.” 

“Where?”

“I’m sorry?” 

“Where did you hear about Section 31?” The words had more strength in them than Jon had felt in days. 

“It- It’s not a story I tell often.” Altman hesitated, his eyes darted to the exit then back to Jon. “It was years ago…” 

It was Jon’s turn to perk up. “Go on,” he prompted.

Police Constable Leo Altman proceeded to tell his story. Haltingly at first but he fell into a steady cadence soon enough. Jon drank in his words with the hunger of a starving man. He felt the rush of a cigarette after months of fighting off cravings mixed with the shame of having succumbed to them.

Jon was dimly aware of Altman excusing himself from the room as he fell back against his bed. The distant click of a tape recorder from somewhere in the room was the last thing he heard before falling into a satisfied sleep. 

\---

A heavy bundle of fabric landed on Jon’s chest, knocking the breath out of him. He blinked up in confusion at the thin woman with close cropped blond hair, all hard angles and barely suppressed anger. 

“Get dressed, it’s time to go,” she snapped.

“Go?” Jon coughed and sat up in bed, cuffs rattling against the metal railing. “Go where?”

For a moment she looked like she was going to yell at him but she bit back the retort she was going to fire off. “Out of here. It’s past time you were dealt with.” 

Jon winced as the cuff tightened briefly before giving way to the key in Daisy’s hand. He gave her a confused look as he fumbled with his shirt. “I um, I don’t--” 

“No questions.” 

“But--” 

“I said no talking.” She rested her hand on her baton and fixed him with a glare. “Is that going to be a problem?” He opened his mouth to answer. Daisy’s narrowed eyes made him immediately think better of it. “Good.” 

As soon as he was fully dressed the detective wrenched his arms behind him, reaffixing the cuffs tight enough to hurt. Jon bit back a curse as she manhandled him toward the door. “Is that entirely necessary?” he groused.

“In this case, I think so.” 

“I don’t underst--” The blow to his stomach came without warning, knocking the breath out of him. He coughed and curled in on himself until Daisy hauled him upright by his shoulder. Before he could gather his wits about him, Daisy had frog marched him from his room and out of the hospital. 

Despite all the jostling, Jon felt surprisingly well. The hospital stay had actually done him some good- current situation notwithstanding. He should have listened to Georgie sooner. _ Oh shit, Georgie! _

Jon planted his feet and stood his ground two steps from Daisy’s car. “I need to let Georgie-” he craned his head over his shoulder to meet her eyes. “Let her know where I’ve gone.”

“Not my problem.” Daisy shoved him hard between the shoulder blades, forcing Jon to stumble forward or fall on his face. She reached around him and pulled open the back door. “Get in.” 

“But I--” 

“Get in,” the detective bit out the words, “or you’re riding in the boot.” Jon’s shocked look bounced between Daisy and the inside of her car. He was about to call her bluff when she pressed something on her keys and the boot popped open, threat clear. “Get. In.” 

  


[Jump to chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806495#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: illness, hospitals


	10. 10 - Stood Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Archives plot their next move(s) without Jon

“Of course he stood us up.” Tim took another sip of his drink, thought better of it, and took a swig. 

“He’ll be here,” Martin insisted more to convince himself than any of the others. 

Sat across the table, toying with her straw, Basira wasn’t quite sure how to interact with her new… her new what? Coworkers she supposed. As far as team bonding went, the night hadn’t been going well. If she didn’t do something soon they were all going to leave bitter, resentful, and significantly less likely to meet up like this again. Melanie was shifting herself to slide from the booth; it was now or never. 

“Maybe we should start without him,” Basira suggested. “Start laying things out at least. We can catch him up when he shows.” 

“_If_ he shows,” Tim scoffed. 

“If nothing else, I need to get caught up on what exactly it is that I signed up for. We can start there.” She looked across the table to were Melanie was making patterns with the rings of condensation from her glass. “What was it like when you got hired on?”

Melanie let her pint glass fall the last inch from her hand to the table with a heavy thunk. “Elias offered me the job, lied to me-- or at least danced around the truth in that way that he does, then he slid over a contract and that was that. I didn’t even read it. It all felt so  _ right  _ at the time.” She sighed bitterly and whispered, “Idiot.” to herself. 

“Hey, you’re not an idiot,” Martin soothed. “You just didn’t know--”

Melanie’s head snapped to the left, eyes blazing. “Did I ask you?” 

“I, uh… No, s-sorry.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he faltered with what to say. “I’m going to get another round in. Anyone want anything?” 

Basira noticed Melanie’s knuckles had gone white around the glass clenched in her hands. “I’m not sure more alcohol is what we need right now.” 

“I’m fine,” Melanie snapped. She forced herself to relax and repeated more quietly, “I’m fine.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” Tim drained his glass and pulled himself up from his seat with a sigh. “Come on, Martin, let’s have a look at the whiskey selection. The Institute’s buying, yeah?”

“I… wh-  _ what?” _

“Business meals,” he said matter-of-factly. “I have a form, use them all the time when doing interviews for research.” 

“So you’re actually doing work now?”

“Used to use them all the time,” Tim amended, hooking his arm through Martin’s and steering him toward the bar. 

“I wouldn’t call planning a coup against our evil boss a business meal, Tim.” 

“I’m with Tim on this one, I’ll have another of the same.” Melanie finished her drink and pushed it into the center of the table with the other empties. “Smug bastard probably even budgeted for it,” she added under her breath.

“So…” Basira ventured, desperate to bring the conversation back around. “After signing the-- After signing, is there anything else?” 

Melanie wrinkled her nose. “Like what?” 

“Tax forms, having an ID made, keys, Institute email… That kind of thing.” 

“Oh! Yeah, Rosie will take care of all of that. She’s great, works for a total prick, but I like her well enough. I’m surprised she hasn’t talked to you about all that stuff already.” 

“I spent the day in the Archives, um, exploring.” 

“All day?”

“Yep.”

“I mean their big, but they’re not  _ that _ big.” 

“Tim might have shown me a couple of good spots to grab a few hours of sleep,” Basira admitted with a sheepish grin. 

“Ah, that would do it. Rosie doesn’t come down into the Archives. Or at least, if she does, I’ve never seen it.” 

“You know it’s strange. Sleeping in the basement of a Spooky Evil Lair.” Basira waggled her fingers dramatically. “I fully expected to have nightmares.” The left side of her lips quirked for half a second. “No nightmares. And if I dreamed at all, I don’t remember it. That nap must have been the best sleep I’ve gotten in months.” 

“Jesus.” 

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “So what do you reckon we do about Elias?” 

“Kill him,” Melanie said without hesitation. 

“Wouldn’t that--” 

“Of course not! He’s evil, he’s a prick, and he’s bluffing.” 

“Wouldn’t it be better to wait and see, work out a plan that doesn’t involve murder?” 

“Now is the best time, he thinks he’s winning. He had that whole little scene in his office planned out. We shouldn’t give him the time to do that again. Besides, it’s not murder, it’s self defence.”

Basira made a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “As former police, I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.” 

“How what works?” Martin asked as he and Tim arrived back at the table. 

“Melanie wants to kill Elias.” 

“Oh, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Martin handed Melanie her drink and sat down. “Wouldn’t it be better to find some way to contain him instead?” 

Tim scoffed. “You’re all delusional. Whatever’s going on there’s no winning, there’s not even getting out.” 

“The way I see it,” Basira began, “is we have several options in front of us ranging from murder--” 

“That’s my vote.” Melanie gave her a sharp-toothed smile while Martin rolled his eyes. 

“--to doing nothing at all,” she finished.

  
  


If you want to follow Tim: [Continue to chapter 11](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806966#workskin)

If you want to follow Melanie: [Jump to chapter 12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47807089#workskin)

If you like Martin and Basira’s ideas: Relisten to season 3 of The Magnus Archives it’s really good, I promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, it's real good. You should listen. And then keep listening. And then scream with me about it because I love this show.


	11. 11 - Tim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's follow Tim for a while, shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

Forty-five minutes and a round of drinks later they were no closer to any kind of real plan. Tim had lost count how many times he’d seen Martin check his phone. Melanie had noticed too and shared an eyeroll with Tim. 

“Well this conversation is going in circles,” Tim said, interrupting Martin before he could start in again on his wait-and-see plan. “I say we finish the drinks so generously provided to us by the Magnus Institute and then fuck off to our respected homes to either continue drinking or crawl into bed-- yours or someone else’s--”

“Tim--” 

“--and try not to think about whatever horrible monster or spooky book--” 

“ _ Tim,” _ Martin tried again.

“--will eventually kill us all.” Tim raised his glass and drained it in one go. 

“Tim, that’s not helpful.” 

“Helpful? I’m done with trying to be helpful. Nothing that we do matters! Elias can’t fire us, we’re stuck. How’s this for a plan? My plan is to keep my head down and as far away from all the spooky bullshit going around for as long as I can.” 

“There  _ has _ to be a way,” Martin insisted. “We’re all in this together.”

Tim barked out a laugh. “This isn’t High School Musical, Martin. We aren’t going to come together and do a song and dance that’s going to solve all our problems. Our boss is capital ‘E’ Evil. I’ve already tried to get out and it didn’t work.” Tim’s anger burned out leaving him to sag with exhaustion. “I’m done.” He set his glass with the cluster of empties on their table. “This wildcat is going home.” 

Martin tried to step in front of him as he left the bar but Tim sidestepped him with practiced ease. 

“See you at work tomorrow, I guess,” Martin called weakly after him. 

_ Like I have a choice. _ Tim pushed out of the pub without looking back. 

He bypassed the tube station in favor of walking the two miles back to his flat to clear his head. The night was cool but by the time he climbed the stairs of his building he had worked up enough body heat to feel a patch of sweat forming between his shoulder blades. He’d shower in the morning, for now, he just wanted to sleep. 

\---

Jon was showing up to work less and less which was just fine with him. If he had to be stuck in the Archives at least it wasn’t with the person who saddled him with this situation in the first place and then stalked him for the better part of a year. Tim took some consolation that when he  _ did _ see Jon he looked like hell. That might be petty but at least he was willing to admit that to himself. 

Tim was doing just enough work to keep from getting sick but that wasn’t enough for Elias. He called Tim into his office again about his attendance, threatening him with disciplinary action if his truancy continued. A year ago he would have made some quip but he didn’t care enough to be sarcastic anymore, just agreed to be in by ten at the latest.

“Every day, Tim,” Elias insisted. “Unless you are following up on a statement for Jon. Exceptions can be made for field work.” 

A muscle in Tim’s jaw twitched at the mention of the Head Archivist but Tim bit back whatever he was going to say and just nodded mechanically. “Is that everything, boss?”

“Yes, that will be all. Now,” Elias folded his hand and rested them on his desk, “let’s make sure we don’t have to have any more of these little chats. I’d hate to have to have a repeat of Melanie’s performance review.” 

The threat Elias was making sailed right over his head. Whatever Melanie did to piss him off was her business and he wanted nothing to do with it. If she wanted to get herself killed chasing some imagined revenge, he couldn't blame her but he wasn’t about to help her. 

\---

It wasn’t the first time Martin asked him to read a statement but it was the first time Tim had seen genuine fear in his eyes when he said no.  _ “Please, _ Tim, just one?” 

“No. It’s never ‘just one’ with this place.” 

“Elias said that if I needed help I should ask you.” 

“And  _ I’m _ saying that you shouldn’t be reading them either. No one should.” 

“But--” 

“You look like hell, Martin.” 

“Thanks. You know, you don’t look so great either,” Martin shot back bitterly. “People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones and all that.” 

“They do if they want to bring it all crashing down around them.” 

\---

Judging from the bandage above Elias’s ear, Melanie must have tried to kill Elias again. From what he could tell she’s been trying pretty much since she started working in the Archives. This time she’d actually gotten close enough to wound him. He looked a bit paler than usual but nothing like Melanie.

If Elias was pale, Melanie was bloodless. Her eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance and her hands were clutched into fists so tight that if she ever opened them again her fingernails would almost certainly come away bloody. 

She walked past Tim and into the Archives in a daze, possibly in shock. Elias followed close behind with a hand on the small of her back, steering her toward her desk. He drew her chair out for her like a proper gentleman. When she didn’t sit on her own he rested a hand on her shoulder and applied gentle pressure until her knees bent and she sunk into the chair. 

“Now, we’ll have no more of that now, won’t we?” When she didn’t respond, Elias squeezed her shoulder before taking a step back to face her more fully. He met her vacant eyes and smiled like they were sharing some private joke. “That’s what I thought.”

Melanie didn’t move even long after Elias left, she just sat there, staring. Blank and empty. 

The slow but steady sound of Melanie’s tears dripping onto her desk became too much for Tim. He gave up on alphabetizing the file box on his desk and decided he was past due for a nap. 

\---

No one talked in the Archives anymore, not to each other at least. Martin still read statements into that damned tape recorder with increasing frequency. Every file he carried into Jon’s office weighed him down until he was nearly bent double. When he came out after he left more and more of himself behind. 

Melanie was practically a ghost. If you asked her a question, she’d answer but beyond that all she did was sit with silent tears tracking down her face. Basira seemed to be looking after her, not that she had much else to do. As far as he could tell Daisy went missing the same day Elias walked Melanie back to her desk.

Not that he cared. Tim was doing his best to lose himself in his own way. It started with sneaking sips from a flask tucked into his pocket and napping on the cot in the document room on his lunch break. Now he was drinking openly from whatever bottle he had on hand and sleeping through the afternoons. 

Jon made some comment about the smell of him when he stopped in to talk to Martin. Tim took a swig from his bottle and belched in Jon’s face. “Enjoy that smell. Prick.” 

The Archivist wrinkled his nose and looked like he was going to say something before Martin hooked him by the arm and pulled him away. Tim overheard them talking about some kind of ritual or dance or some shit. He scoffed and wished that  _ he _ could unknow more than a few things from the last several years. 

\---

Whatever the Unknowing was, they managed to stop it. Jon, Martin, and Basira blew up some wax museum in Great Yarmoth or Lowstoft or somewhere a few hours north and east. 

Basira was the only one who made it back and she had a limp and a nasty scar to show for it. She wouldn’t talk about what happened other than to say Martin and Jon died saving the world, they were heroes. The fact that he never saw her without a tape recorder anymore told Tim a different story.

Tim scoffed at that. “Heros? Really? The world doesn’t feel very saved. As far as I can tell nothing’s changed. I still can’t leave this shitty job and now you’re carrying around that- that  _ thing! _ ” Tim eyed the recorder in her hands, the walls of the Archive, the boxes of files; trapping him, binding them all to this place. “Seems to me like they died for nothing whatsoever.” 

Basira backhanded him across the mouth so hard he saw stars. She said something about him not understanding the sacrifices they made but he wasn’t able to catch it over the ringing in his ears. 

Tim pulled a fifth of vodka from the freezer where he’d stashed it earlier. The cold glass soothed away some of the burn from his jaw. He pulled it away long enough to pour himself a drink and knock it back. 

He thought about filing a complaint with HR but it turns out she was his new boss. Tim knew from experience that Elias all but ignored complaints against his Head Archivist and he doubted things would be any different now that Basira held the position. 

The throbbing pain from Basira’s blow crept along his cheek and up to his temple. If he wasn’t careful it would settle in behind his eyes and he’d spend the rest of the day with a migraine. 

“Fine, message received, mindless filing it is. Christ,” Tim muttered to no one in particular, pinching the bridge of his nose. He poured himself another drink and settled in to sort a box of statements chronologically by date given. Within ten minutes his headache had receded, by thirty his jaw was as good as new. 

End of Branch

  
To see what Melanie was up to: [Proceed to chapter 12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47807089#workskin)   
Or if you’d rather Jon showed up at the pub: [Jump to chapter 15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47825245#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: alcoholism, depression, major character death (off screen)


	12. 12 - Melanie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see what Melanie is getting up to

Despite making what felt like a solid case in her favor, none of the others were convinced. She left the bar with a simmering fury clawing under her skin, urging her to action. For all their talk of working together, none of them were willing to actually  _ do anything _ . The closest thing any of them had to a plan was ‘watch and wait’. 

_ Pathetic. _

If none of them were going to help her, Melanie might know someone who would. 

\---

“Too risky.” Daisy hadn’t bothered to look up from the blade she was sharpening.

“He’s bluffing,” Melanie insisted.

“Might be. Still too risky.”

Melanie’s guts started boiling. Why was everyone content to sit around while Elias played his games with them as the pieces? She forced herself to take a calming breath. It didn’t help. “How do we make it less risky then? If we can do that, will you help me?”

“There is no ‘us’. We’re not a team.” Daisy sighed heavily and admired the knife’s edge in the light. “Would I like to kill the little bastard? Yes. But now isn’t the time.” She spat on the whetstone and continued dragging the blade across it with a steady rhythm. 

“This is the best chance we’re going to have! He won’t expect it so soon.” 

“No.” 

“Oh, for the love of-  _ Why?” _

“Because I can’t risk losing Basira!” Daisy snapped. “If you can get her contract and destroy it or void it somehow,  _ then  _ I might be in.” 

Melanie was practically bouncing with impatience. She needed to do this _now_, to watch the bright points fade from his eyes and _know_ she was free. It was an urge that needled her so badly she could almost taste it. 

“Well?” Daisy cocked her eyebrow at Melanie. 

If Basira’s stories were true, Daisy had killed her share of monsters. Was Elias even monster enough she would need help? He didn’t look it on the surface, but someone who could beat a man to death with a lead pipe certainly had enough violence in him that backup could be helpful. 

Melanie didn’t like being backed into a corner and her need to escape demanded immediate action. Sneaking around doing stealth admin just to get Daisy on her side could be a waste of time. 

Daisy shrugged at Melanie’s indecision and went back to work sharpening her knife. “If you can get Basira’s contract, then I’ll help you. That’s my condition.” 

If you want Melanie to go after Elias alone: [Proceed to chapter 13](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47824780#workskin)

If you want her to find the contract and team up with Daisy: [Jump to chapter 14](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47824849#workskin)


	13. 13 - I don't need your help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melanie is going to go it alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

She didn’t have the time or patience to play spy games hunting down a scrap of paper in an Institute full of scraps of paper. If Daisy wouldn’t back her up, fine. Melanie was used to going it alone, this was no different. 

A hands on approach would have been her preferred method, but likely to fail given their difference in size. What she wouldn’t give to wrap her hands around Elias’s throat and push down on his windpipe with her thumbs, squeezing the life out of him until the panicked flutter of his pulse stilled under her fingers-- 

It was a lovely fantasy, but something more subtle would have to do. They said poison was a woman’s weapon, could be worth a shot.

\---

“Shit,” she cursed under her breath. The pills had crushed readily enough but weren’t dissolving. A chalky residue clung to the sides of the cup and clumped around the stir stick. “Shit, shit, _ shit!” _

It’s fine, it’ll be fine. She’ll put a lid on it and he’ll never see the white scum floating on the surface. If he asks, she’ll say it was powdered creamer. Yeah, that’s it, they were out of milk (what kind of cafe runs out of milk?) and all they had was the powdered stuff. 

“Goddammit, _ dissolve _,” she hissed, swirling the cup.

Eventually enough of the crushed pills settled to the bottom and the coffee looked (and smelled) normal. If she could get him to drink even a little it might be enough to slow him down and give her a chance to do things the way she actually wanted.

Elias slid the paper cup across the desk with the barest twitch at the corner of his lips. “I think I’d rather you drink it.” 

He seemed more disappointed than angry and ever so slightly amused as he lectured her on the finer points of poisonings. The bastard insisted he was only trying to help. Like _ she _ was the unreasonable one. He even let her off with a warning-- all while recording the whole thing.

Fuck him.

Fuck him and his creepy recorder.

\---

Technically Elias didn’t say ‘no more assassination attempts.’ What he actually said was, ‘no more _ clumsy _ assassination attempts.’ 

She’d blown the element of surprise, that’s for sure-- though from his response to the coffee she might not have ever had it in the first place. This was going to be much harder than she thought, but maybe not impossible. For all his self-satisfied knowledge, he had insisted that he couldn’t see everything. It might be possible to sneak past him.

Melanie rubbed at her leg, it was itching again. It’s funny, if the bullet wound hadn’t scabbed over and healed months ago, she would have sworn it was infected. 

\---

It was time to give up on subtlety. No matter what she did, Elias always gave her that knowing look that made her want to slam him face first into a wall. She couldn’t think clearly past the rage boiling in her veins and the blind impulse to just _ get out _ from under the trapped feeling that pressed down on her more and more each day. 

Fine, if he can see her plans, she won’t make any. The well worn handle of the knife settled into the palm of her hand with a satisfying weight. It’s past time she just came at him straight on. 

\---

Melanie walked blankly back to her desk in the empty Archive. Joining Martin and Basira at the pub was out of the question, she needed time to process what Elias had told her. What he had _ shown _ her. 

A wave of heat rushed across her face and the roar of fire filled her ears. Fresh tears welled up to spill hotly down her face as knowledge of her father’s last moments flashed before her. She knew how the smoke choked his voice as he cried for help. He was sick with fever and trapped in his room. The smell must have been awful.

“Oh, god,” Melanie sobbed. 

In the years since her parent’s deaths, Melanie had come to realise that the pain of their loss was never truly going to go away. Time didn’t smooth the sharp edges, it only added distance enough to blur them. Elias cut through that distance and used her father’s memory like a barbed hook twisting in her guts. 

A flicker of rage reignited under the despair trying to drown her. How dare Elias do this to her. How _ dare _ he. He couldn't intimidate her into backing down, if anything this made her want to kill him more than ever. It was proof of just how dangerous he was. 

Melanie wiped her eyes and took a steadying breath to collect herself, but not too much. Elias was probably watching, the sick bastard. She had to keep him thinking his demonstration had worked or he might try something worse. 

She let the sadness continue to hang heavy on her face as she got shakily to her feet. Let him think he had broken her. Next time, she would finally get it right. 

\---

She had him. 

After all the failed attempts and false starts she finally had him. The hammer blow to his shoulder sent Elias staggering to one knee. She had been aiming for his head but he noticed her presence a split second before she struck and threw himself hard to one side. The shock on his face was beautiful but there wasn’t time to savor it. 

“Melanie,” Elias gasped. “Wait.” Elias partially deflected her next attack with his forearm but was too dazed and clumsy to do more than make a weak grab for her weapon. She wrenched it away and landed a kick to his gut. 

Blood flowed freely from the wound in his scalp staining his collar and spattering the floor. Elias made no move to wipe it away as he struggled back to his knees. “Melanie,” he said, his eyes distant. “For your own sake, stop this foolishness.” 

“Stop!? This doesn’t stop until you’re dead.” She had yet to feel the satisfying crunch of bone giving way beneath her hammer in her hands but one more blow should do it. 

“MELANIE!” 

Her father’s voice cut through everything, stopping her cold. 

He was in pain, abandoned. He was so confused and his little moth had left him in this place. The world swam around her, fever-sick and burning with the itch of infection. Her grip weakened on the hammer. It slipped from her grasp to thud on the carpet. Melanie followed soon after, her legs no longer able to support her. 

Everything was so hot, she couldn’t breathe. The fire was everywhere, the air was hot enough to sear her lungs. Every choked breath she forced into herself tasted of ash and disease, burning plastic and roasted meat. Her skin charred and split open as she was cooked alive. 

It didn’t stop, trapped her in a neverending moment of the death her father suffered. 

Melanie screamed. She kept screaming long after she felt something tear and could taste blood on the back of her tongue. She held on for as long as she could before the sea of memories Elias forced into her brain washed her away leaving her adrift in her father’s final moments of suffering. 

She was dimly aware of Elias climbing to his feet to stand over her but couldn’t find it in her to move. “It’s a shame had to come to this, Melanie,” he sighed. “I had hoped to avoid it but you did force my hand.” He picked up the discarded hammer from the floor at her side. “And I don’t make idle threats.” 

\---

Melanie was lost. 

She barely moved, hardly ate, and never spoke. Sometimes there were tears but she was always crying. Tim ignored her, Basira pitied her, and Daisy seemed to resent her. Martin finally gave up nervously trying to feed her tea when she knocked the tray from his hand in a burst of anger. 

Her whole world burned and would keep burning. Heat bubbled up under her skin and her lungs fought with the memory of smoke, while under everything an unfocused rage still lingered. If she clenched her fists hard enough she could usually hold back the screams. 

A strangled cry that didn’t originate from her own throat snapped her focus away from the constant sickness and death to the present. A lump of misshapen flesh was pushing up through the floor in front of her. More filled the hallway in the direction of the scream. 

Basira grabbed her arm, pulling her up the stairs and out of the Archives. The creatures kept up and in the shuffle they got separated. Somehow Melanie found herself in Artefact Storage standing in front of a knife. 

Wasn’t this how Sasha died? The real Sasha. Taking refuge in Artefact Storage while a mass of squirming things attacked the Archives below only to find herself drawn to something dangerous that consumed her. 

It was an ugly thing; blade rusted and notched with a handle that didn’t look heavy enough to counterbalance such a long blade. Wielding such an impractical thing was just as likely to injure the user as their opponent. Anger and bloodlust poured off it in an almost tangible way. It echoed her own seething hatred to pulse in time with the flavor of rage the bullet lodged in her leg pumped through her.

She didn’t think twice about smashing the glass case and grabbing the knife with her now bloodied hand. It drank her offering greedily and a frenzied sort of joy overtook Melanie when it settled in her hand. Her heart pounded with adrenaline, with wrath, whiting out all thought other than the need to fight and to kill. 

The Archives were full of the twisted things that might have once been human. She sliced through a limb that tried to grab her on instinct, severing it and sending it crashing to the floor. The creature’s scream of pain transformed into a wet gurgle as she plunged the knife into throat She left it to choke to death on its own blood. 

Melanie sliced and stabbed her way through the attackers without regard for her own safety. The knife didn’t care whose blood it shed so long as it flowed and kept flowing. Basira shook her by the shoulders and yelled something Melanie couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in her ears and the static in her brain. There were fewer creatures left but they were stronger than the others. She pushed Basira behind her and dove happily into the fray. 

She lost count of the limbs she’s severed, the organs she pierced, and the wounds she took. The fight was taking its toll. Melanie was getting weaker. 

Slower. 

The thing in front of her swept out one of its legs, knocking hers out from under her. Melanie didn’t bother trying to stand, instead she lashed out from her place on the ground. Blood pooled around her, most of it hers.

She made them pay dearly for every drop spilled until her strength failed and her grip on the knife weakened. It clattered to the floor in a pool of blood forming in front of her limp body.

End of Branch

To try again with Daisy’s help: [ Continue to chapter 14](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47824849#workskin)

To check in with Tim: [Jump to chapter 11](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806966#workskin)

If you’d rather Jon showed up at the pub instead: [Jump to chapter 15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47825245#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: major character death, attempted murder, canon-typical violence, forced memories, fire, body horror


	14. 14 - Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stealth Admin and corporate restructuring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

Once, back in her days shooting Ghost Hunt UK, Melanie had made the mistake of picking a lock closed. It was short work to unlock it again but Andy teased her for months after. Every time she would bring out her picks he would ask if she’d checked the knob first even if she’d clearly done just that. 

Elias hadn’t locked his door, either that or he was still in his office despite the hour. Her adrenaline spiked, maybe she would get to use the knife she carried after all. Finding the room empty was actually a disappointment. He could still come back, she would need to work fast and be ready for a fight if he caught her in the act. 

Basira’s contract was right where she watched him put it after she’d signed-- second drawer on the left side of his desk. Apparently he hadn’t gotten around to properly filing it away. That didn’t seem like him, Elias always seemed too organized for his own good. This was feeling more and more like a trap. Keeping a wary eye out, Melanie flipped through the rest of the papers she found in the drawer. 

Everything else seemed to be more or less mundane paperwork; budget projections, notes on recent acquisitions to artifact storage, and scheduled department meetings. The most entertaining by far was the complaint about Jon from the head librarian, Diana. Apparently Jon had developed a habit of taking books without properly checking them out first. In the rare case he returned them he’d put them on whatever shelf he pleased. “Just because the Archives are a disorganized mess of misplaced items doesn’t mean he can come up here and start shifting things around with no rhyme or reason. We have a system and if Mr. Sims is unable to abide by that system then he is no longer welcome in my library.” 

She was nearly to the bottom of the pile when she came across her own contract. The words blurred when she tried to read them but her signature was clear as day. She wanted to wad it up and chuck it in the bin, but couldn’t quite bring herself to actually do it. She settled for tucking it in alongside Basira’s in her bag next to her unused set of lockpicks. 

\---

“You’ve got it then?” Daisy asked. Despite her best efforts, she wasn’t able to hide the hopeful note in her voice. 

“Yeah.” Melanie dug it out of her bag and handed it over. (She’d left her own contract on the kitchen table at home. When she’d tried to destroy it, or even read it, something would distract her and she’d find herself twenty minutes into some other task before she realized. This time it was Daisy’s call to meet at her place. She’d been halfway there by the time she’d realized and by then it was too late to go back.)

Daisy grabbed the paper and gave it a quick once over. “Hurts my eyes to look at. You sure this is it?”

“It’s got Basira’s signature down at the bottom. I could read that part at least.” 

“Right then.” Daisy pulled a lighter from her pocket and flicked it on. 

Melanie’s stomach lurched. “Wait!” Daisy cocked an eyebrow at her. “Shouldn’t we, I don’t know--” She was about to say  _ record it _ but bit back the words before they left her mouth. “You know what, never mind. Go ahead.” 

Daisy’s scoff made it clear she didn’t need Melanie’s permission. The paper resisted the flame for a heartbeat then caught in a rush. The flames devoured the contract like a witch burned at the stake. Melanie could almost feel them, lapping at her feet while a crowd of onlookers called for her death--

“What’s your problem?” Daisy said, dropping it in the bin. 

Melanie shook herself from watching too closely as Basira’s contract burned. “Nothing, just a weird thought.” 

A flare of unnatural brightness forced her to look away from the fire. As suddenly as it had started it was over, leaving only the afterimage behind when she blinked. 

Daisy stirred the ashes with her baton until she was satisfied it had all burned out. “Doesn’t seem to be healing itself or anything weird like that. Other than that flash at the end. I’m going to check with Basira.” 

“I thought you didn’t want me to tell her about this.” 

“I don’t, but after that little show it put on--” Daisy’s phone chirped.

“What’d she say?” 

“‘Hot flash like you wouldn't believe, no wonder mom was such a bitch when she started menopause. Why?’” She fired off a quick reply then keyed off her phone and shoved it back in her pocket. “I told her Elias had me dealing with one of those freaky library books.” 

“And you think she’ll believe you?” 

“Probably not,” Daisy admitted. “She’ll want to hear the whole story later. But before that happens-” Daisy spit into the bin of ashes. “We’ve got a freak to kill.” 

\---

Elias was waiting for them when they arrived at his flat. The door clicked and swung open before Melanie could check the handle. “Ah, Melanie, I’ve been expe--” 

Daisy’s punch sent him staggering back into his flat. “Not expecting that though.” She followed him in and slammed her baton into his solar plexus sending him sprawling to the floor.

“Are you--” Elias coughed, catching his breath. “Are you sure you want to be doing this? After all Basira still works for the Institute.” He collected himself enough to stand and spit out a mouthful of blood. 

“Not anymore,” Melanie chimed in, shutting the door behind her. “Her contract’s gone. She quits!” 

Elias’s brow furrowed followed by a look of sudden understanding and then as Daisy approached, fear. “Ah, so it was _ Basira’s _ contract that burned.”    
  
“Give it up already! You were never a deadman’s switch and now you’re just a dead man.” Melanie stepped forward and punched Elias in the throat. 

Daisy clapped her on the back as Elias clutched at his neck and tried to draw breath. “How did that feel?”

“Refreshing.” She smirked, shaking her hand out and balling it up again. “Glad I decided against punching him in the face.” 

“One of the best ways to break a finger.” Daisy inspected her own fist. “Sometimes it’s worth it though.” 

An ornately painted vase on a side table caught Melanie’s eye. It had a decent heft and shattered beautifully over Elias’s head, dropping him to the ground. The shards cut his hands when he tried to push himself to his feet. He didn’t make it far before Melanie’s boot caught him across the jaw and he fell heavily to the floor. 

Melanie wobbled slightly on her feet as her head began to spin. “What the hell?” Her vision flashed white when Daisy’s baton caught Elias solidly across the temple and she had to place a hand on the wall to keep herself upright. “Wait, Daisy… I- I- think…” 

Elias’s eyes were rapidly swelling shut but that didn’t stop them from meeting with hers as her legs gave out and she slid to the floor. “I… I warned you.” His self satisfied laugh came out more of a wheeze through his broken nose and dislocated jaw.

The laughter only encouraged Daisy even as Melanie tried to stop her. If she noticed (of course the former police Detective noticed) she didn’t care as she continued beating Elias to death. 

Melanie curled in a ball around the pain clutching in her chest. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts that sent broken glass through her lungs. Elias was dying or dead and she had condemned herself and the others to follow him to the grave. 

The world spun away into a rushing darkness and the press of something old and powerful watching her fail.

The last thing she heard was Daisy’s voice telling Basira she’d see her soon. 

End of Branch

To see what Tim was up to: [Jump to chapter 11](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47806966#workskin)   
If you would rather Jon had showed up at the pub: [Proceed to chapter 15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47825245#workskin)

You win? (but at what cost?)  
(at least someone got out alive)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: major character death, canon-typical violence


	15. 15 - Pub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Magnus Archives Season 3 but if they talked to each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in end of chapter notes

Jon spotted Martin’s ginger hair poking up among the rest of the patrons like a flare. He threaded his way through the crowd to where he sat with the rest of the archival staff. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Jon!” Martin practically leapt from the booth to make room for him. “You made it!” 

Tim took a sip from his tumbler. “Thought you stood us up.” 

“Yes, well...” Jon scratched the back of his head more than a little sheepishly. “I was seriously considering it. I didn’t want to involve the rest of you--” 

“Too late,” Melanie seethed. 

“More than you already are,” amended Jon. “But after talking to Georgie, it seemed… And the Admiral insisted.”

Martin scrunched up his face. “The Admiral?”

“Georgie’s cat.” Melanie indicated the scratches on Jon’s unburned hand. “Fell for the belly trap?”

“What? Oh, y-yes. Every time.”

“You never learn.”

”Apparently not.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh.”Though I am trying. With, uhm- with other things.” 

“You certainly are trying,” Tim muttered into his drink. 

“Tim!” admonished Martin. “You said you’d hear us out.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that he stalked me-- and you, Martin-- for months. Or have you forgotten?”

Basira let out a low whistle. “You really did that?”

“Yes, I…” Jon sighed. “I was- It was a… difficult time. I let my paranoia get the better of me, got in too deep.” 

Tim scoffed and rolled his eyes, promptly catching an elbow from Martin for his efforts.

“Not that it excuses my behavior.” Jon was quick to add. “And that’s why I’m here. I- I need your help. There are… things out there. And I need your help. I need your help to stop them.” 

Melanie swirled the last dregs of her drink. “Does one of those  _ things _ just happen to work three floors above us and insists he’s ‘trying to help’?” 

“Yes, I suppose so, but he seems pretty benign.”

“Benign?” Melanie nearly spat out her drink. “Are you serious? He’s murdered two people  _ that we know of _ , let some kind of twisted horror kill and replace Sasha, and has somehow trapped us all to the Institute. I’d say that qualifies as a pretty big threat.” 

“I- I mean, when you put it that way…” 

Martin’s brows knit together over wide eyes. “But what about the… you know.” He drew a finger across his throat and made a face. 

“He’s bluffing.” Melanie was absolutely sure. 

“We don’t have to jump straight to killing him,” Basira suggested. “There has to be a way to neutralize him somehow. We just need to find it or someone who does.” 

“Alright, I’m following a lead up to Newcastle tomorrow on something that keeps popping up in the statements.” Jon held up a hand when he saw Melanie start to protest. “But I’ll keep an eye out for anything we can use against Elias. He’ll be our first priority.” 

\---

Martin insisted Jon take him to Newcastle with him. Though more accurately Martin took Jon since it was Martin’s car and he did all the driving. Jon nodded off into a fitful sleep as soon as they hit the M1. Whenever he woke up to shift position in the cramped vehicle he pretended not to notice the worried looks Martin gave him. 

There were no signs indicating the location of the Breekon and Hope depot from the road. If Jon hadn’t looked up the address ahead of time they never would have found the overgrown driveway. 

Martin pulled the car into the lot and set the parking brake with a grim sort of finality. “We’re here,” he said without any trace of joy. 

“Right.” Jon swallowed. “Right. Well, I… I suppose I should get on with it. Stay with the car, I’ll be back shortly.”

“The hell I am! I’m coming with you.”

“It could be dangerous.” 

“Which is exactly why I’m coming with you.” He shifted in his seat to more fully face Jon. “I didn’t drive all this way to wait in the car while you go and poke around an abandoned warehouse like an idiot teenager in a horror movie.” 

Jon looked over to the building and its faded signs and broken windows then back to Martin’s determined face. “Fine, but at the first sign of trouble--” 

“I’ll pull you back to the car and we’re  _ both _ getting out of here.” 

“Fine.” Jon usually didn’t know when he’d been beaten but he was learning. “Just… be careful.” 

“Same goes for you.” 

“Right.” 

Greeting them in front of the door was a stack of mail nearly two feet high. Atop it sat a brown envelope much like the ones that had shown up at Georgie’s flat. No return address and no postmark, clearly labeled for Jonathan Sims and this time Martin Blackwood as well. Jon chewed the inside of his cheek and couldn’t decide if he should laugh or scream. He settled for an annoyed groan as he tore open the packaging. 

“What is it?”

“Elias, showing off,” Jon said more than a little bitter.

“I don’t…” 

Jon shook his head, pulling out the statement of Alfred Breekon. “He has to prove that he’s known everything we find out this whole time.” 

“He knew I’d be here too.” 

“What?”

Martin picked up the discarded envelope clearly labeled with both of their names and pressed his lips together in a tight line. 

“Cocky prick. Well at least now we know for sure he’s watching us.” Jon scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “Nothing to do about it now, might as well get on with it before we lose the light.”

\---

Martin wasn’t sure what haunted him more, the gruesome sight of a half devoured corpse, or the dispassionate way Jon observed and then immediately dismissed the remains of Alfred Breekon. It wasn’t the first dead body either of them had seen but still. When Jon brought out the recorder to read Mr. Breekon’s statement, Martin decided to go outside for fresher air. 

“So what’s our next move?” Martin asked when Jon finally reemerged from the warehouse. 

Jon held up a thick, leatherbound journal. “I need to go through the log book I found but not, um. Not here.” 

“What about the body? Shouldn’t we, I dunno, call someone?”

“Who? He didn’t have any family and any police investigation is either going to go nowhere or end up getting the officers involved sectioned or killed.” Jon considered for a moment. “If it makes you feel better I’ll mention it to Basira when we get back.”

Martin nodded and dropped the subject.

\---

Jon spent the first half of the drive back to London poring over the log book and occasionally muttering to himself. Eventually he closed the book with a resigned sigh and let his head fall back against the headrest. 

Martin was working up the nerve to say something when Jon’s phone chirped. Whatever the message was, Jon didn’t seem happy to get it. He sent a few more texts back and forth and then sat with his eyes closed for a while.

“I hate to impose,” Jon said without opening his eyes, “but we need to make a stop in Barnet.” 

“Not a problem. It’s pretty much on the way back. Where in Barnet?” 

“The Trophy Room, or rather a nearby Tesco car park.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Jon drew in a long breath through his nose and let it out in a huff. “Daisy is meeting us there to so if you’d rather not…” 

“No, it’s fine. Well, I mean, it’s not  _ fine _ , but I want to come with you.”

\---

If the Breekon and Hope depot had felt empty the Trophy room felt far too full. Jon was used to feeling like he was being watched but this was different somehow. There were too many dead eyes pressing at him from all sides. He shuddered and tried not to think too hard about it while he waited for Daisy’s signal. 

She had gotten there before them and spent nearly an hour staking out the place. It was long after closing but there was still someone in a back room. She cracked open a back door and waved them inside, directing them to stay close. Martin started to ask a question but Daisy gave him a warning glare before he could put it to voice. 

The door to the back opened revealing a short woman with close cropped, brown hair. Daisy didn’t waste a second before she struck. There was a brief struggle but after a few moments Daisy had her arms wrenched back and her wrists locked in handcuffs. 

There was some initial confusion about the evening’s activities and Daisy was less than thrilled to see the recorder in Jon’s hand. Apparently Elias hadn’t felt it necessary to inform her that the Archivist was there for information from the woman he’d identified as Sarah Baldwin, who had gone missing from Edinburgh in 2006, replaced by the chain smoking  _ thing _ that accompanied Melanie and her crew to the Cambridge Military Hospital. 

The Archivist noticed Sarah perk up when she heard Elias’s name and filed that away for later. He had more pressing questions he needed the answers to first. She had information he needed and he was going to get all of it. The Archivist was so focused on his questions he barely noticed how Martin paled and had to sit down when she gleefully described what happened to victims of the anglerfish. 

Getting information about Breekon and Hope and the significance of the Trophy Room was more difficult. She fought against the Archivist but answered in the end. 

The Trophy Room had become a place of power used to store various objects the couriers would transport to where they needed to be. The last thing stored there was the gorilla skin Daniel Rawlings had shown off to the auditor years ago.

“Where is it now?” The Archivist asked.

Sarah actually looked surprised. “You have it.” 

“I- Wh- what?” 

“The old woman, the one before you. She killed Daniel and stole it.” 

“Why would Gertrude--”

“Maybe Elias knows,” Martin suggested. 

Jon caught her making a face at the mention of their boss and finally decided to press the issue. 

“You know Elias?” 

“I know of him. Sits in that office and watches, thinks he sees so much but he can’t see us.” 

“Who is us, and can they help?”

“Help with what?”

“Jon...” Martin’s voice was worried. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Not really, but we need allies don’t we? Isn’t it worth a shot?” 

Sarah relaxed against the counter and lifted her chin in Jon’s direction, waiting for the Archivist’s next question. 

If you think teaming up with the Circus is a terrible idea: [Proceed to chapter 16](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47825650#workskin)

If you want them to try and do it anyway: [Jump to chapter 17](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47826949#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: canon-typical violence
> 
> (Season 3: But if They Talked to Each Other was my starting point for this whole thing)


	16. 16 - Too Risky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Divide and conquer

Jon took some time to stop and really look at Sarah Baldwin, or rather the thing that admitted to replacing her. Her glass eyes stared defiantly right back at him. 

Elias had said the Stranger was antithetical to the Eye, which could make a very powerful ally against him. Jon wanted to tell himself that beggars can’t be choosers, but at the same time you couldn’t beg _ or _ choose if you were dead. Or worse. 

The rest of them, unwilling or no, were agents of the Beholding in some capacity. The circus had every reason to turn on them as soon as it was convenient. No, an alliance with them was too dangerous. Perhaps the Archivist could get some information out of her though. 

Jon didn’t get the chance to voice the question dancing on his lips. Sarah must have seen a shift in his expression and decided it was in her best interests not to stick around. In a surprising burst of speed she slipped the cuffs and landed a fist into Jon’s abdomen, driving the air out of him. Then she disappeared out into the main shop. Daisy followed while Martin stayed to check over Jon. 

After a few wheezing coughs, Jon was able to draw a steady breath and waved off Martin. “It- it’s fine. I’m fine. We… we should go, though.” He glanced warily at the taxidermied animals on the shelves around them. “I don’t like-- We’ve been here too-- ah!” 

Daisy delighted in approaching from Jon’s blind spot. “She’s gone.” 

“Christ, Daisy! Don’t _ do _ that!” 

“What, my job?” She flashed her canines. “Not my fault you weren’t paying attention. Plenty of stuff out there, Sims. Most of it doesn’t have the courtesy to tap you on the shoulder and say ‘hullo’ first.” 

Martin kept a wary eye on the door. “D- do you think she’ll be back? Maybe try and, I dunno, attack us? 

“She might do, but I’d be more worried about the Met right now.” 

“The Met?”

“The place has an alarm system. Bypassed it when we came in but she might have tripped it on her way out.” 

Jon was more than ready to leave. “I can’t say I’m a fan of getting arrested for breaking and entering.” 

“Oh, it’ll be assault at least. That thing left a few torn off fingers back there from when she slipped the cuffs.”

Jon paused at the door. “In that case, should we… clean up?” 

Daisy rolled her eyes and pushed past him. “Sure. Stick around a crime scene for longer than necessary and get arrested. Car’s leaving, with or without you.” 

Jon hesitated before climbing into Daisy’s car for the ride back. She noticed and rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything as he settled in. 

“Daisy?” Martin piped up from the backseat. “Um, do you know a lot of sectioned officers?”

“Yeah,” she grunted. “Why do you want to know?” 

“Would any of them… help us?” 

Her sudden laughter startled Jon and Martin both. “Maybe, but I doubt it.” 

Martin pressed on. “We could try asking.”

“No.”

“Sorry?”

“No. I’m not involving any of them in this. They’ve got their own things going on. Some of them might even be after me, so no.” She looked over to Jon who was debating on joining the conversation “And if you_ dare _ try to make me answer, I’ll punch you in throat and you can ride the rest of the way back in the boot.”   


\---

The tunnels were less than ideal as a meeting location, but after Elias’s stunt with Alfred Breekon’s statement they decided it was worth the inconvenience. (Everyone but Tim, who had managed to convince Jon to sign off on their pub outing for reimbursement. “Name me a better team building exercise than planning a coup against your evil boss.”)

“So what you’re saying is you didn’t find anything useful.” It was hard to tell in the torchlight but Melanie didn’t look pleased at the revelation. 

“Now that’s not--” Jon sighed. “Not as such, no. I’ve managed to fill in a few details but nothing, ah- _ pertinent _ to our current situation.”

“What use are you, then?” 

“Yeah, boss,” Tim added with a pointed look. “What use _ are _ you?”

Jon glared right back at him. “I’m open to suggestions if you have any.” He paused for a breath. “That’s what I thought--” 

Melanie didn’t raise her voice when she interrupted. “What did that to your hand?” 

“Oh, that…” Jon flexed his hand with a grimace. “That was Ms. Perry.” 

“Jude Perry? The one you had me looking into? She’s part of that cult thing with fire and light.”

“Cult of the Lightless Flame,” Jon corrected. 

“Sure, whatever. I could look into them some more. Might be someone we want on our side.” 

“I’m not sure… She’s very dangerous.” 

“What, you think I can’t handle myself? I’ve been in dangerous situations before, Jon, and gotten out of them fine.” 

“You did get shot,” Basira pointed out. 

“That was one time!” Three sets of worried eyes (and one impassive pair) looked back at her. “Fine, I’ll take Georgie with me if I find someone worth talking to.” 

Basira was keen to break the tension in the air. “Who else do we know that might be able to help?” 

Melanie shrugged. “Sasha, the real one, told me about something she ran into that wanted to help. Hands like knives. Could be useful.” 

Overlapping negative responses came from Tim and Martin. “Absolutely not.” Tim wasn’t going to budge on the subject. “He doesn’t want to help. Maybe he did with Sasha, but he’s only interested in fucking with us now.” 

There was a heavy sigh from Basira’s direction. “I suppose I could ask around after any of Rayner’s church that got picked up in the Brodie case. With as bad as the raid went, I don’t know that I’ll be able to find anything, but I still have a couple of favors I can call in.” 

Martin cocked his head slightly. “Daisy said the sectioned officers wouldn’t help us.” 

“She and I left under very different circumstances. And we worked with different people.” 

“Ah.” Martin chewed his lip. “Well as long as you’re asking around, I could really use some help chasing down some leads from a statement about a gym up in Aberdeen. I’ve hit some dead ends and police resources would be really helpful.” 

“Aberdeen’s pretty far but I’ll see what I can do.” 

“I’m honestly not sure if it's the kind of help we want, but at this point, it couldn’t hurt to look into it.”

Tim shook his head. “Are you sure about that?” 

“No.” 

“Well I guess I’m going with you. Don’t want you to have too much fun in Scotland.” 

Jon was suspicious. “Why are you being so helpful all of a sudden?” 

“I could use some time away from this hellhole. If it’s for a statement, we can expense the trip.” Tim shrugged. “Might as well take advantage of that, especially if we are going to keep meeting down here.” 

“Ju- just be careful.” 

Tim tossed Jon a mock salute. “Whatever you say, boss.” 

“Right.” Jon nodded and checked his watch. “We’ve been down here long enough someone might notice, we should probably get back upstairs.” 

Tim repeated his gesture with only his middle finger and much more disdain. “Whatever you say, boss.” 

  
To follow Melanie and Georgie: [Jump to chapter 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47827153)  
To follow Tim and Martin: [Jump to chapter 21](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47828440#workskin)  
To follow Jon and Basira: [Jump to chapter 25](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47829034#workskin)


	17. 17 - Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course it's a bad idea, but we're doing it anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in end of chapter notes

Sarah’s barely contained amusement was written all over her face. “Oh yes, I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial solution to your Elias problem.” 

“You can’t kill him,” Martin insisted, concerned by the gleam her glass eyes had taken. 

“Don’t worry about that. Killing him would defeat the purpose.” 

The Archivist’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What purpose might that be?”

“To make him see the error of his ways.” Sarah’s smile was only slightly less feral than the one Daisy wore when she’d last come at him with a knife. “I’ve answered your questions, now get these cuffs off of me so I can make the appropriate arrangements.” 

“Are--” 

“Archivist!” Sarah growled. She would have headbutted him in the nose if Daisy hadn’t grabbed her arm to stop her. Instead, Sarah made do by kneeing him in the groin. 

Martin rushed over as Jon dropped to his knees with a pained groan. 

“We’re done here.” She tore herself away from Daisy’s grip, leaving behind a patch of skin and the last two fingers from her left hand. 

Daisy fired off three shots after her before Jon caught his breath enough to tell her to stop. 

“Oh, god, Jon, are you okay?” Martin fretted. 

“I’ll be fine. Just give me a moment,” he wheezed. “That went better than I expected.”

“Come on,” Daisy urged. “We need to get out of here before the Met show up. Someone will have heard those shots.” 

“Whatever you say.” Jon said brightly despite the pain.

\---

“Sarah Baldwin? The same Sarah Baldwin that stapled her arm back together?” Melanie’s incredulous voice echoed off the tunnel walls. 

The corner of Daisy’s lips pulled up in a half grin. “Going to need more than a few staples after the other night.” 

Martin shuddered. “I’d really rather not talk about that.” 

“Suit yourself.”

“Why would she help us?” Basira asked. 

“She  _ really _ hates Elias. More than she hates any of us.” Jon shrugged. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, I guess.” 

“Is that what they say?” Daisy looked up from where she was picking the dirt from under her nails. 

“Besides, from the sound of it, they’ve been planning something for a while. At least this way we avoid another surprise attack like Prentiss.” 

Basira looked back and forth between her assembled colleagues. “It’s clearly a trap. You have to know that, right?”

“Of  _ course _ I know that,” Jon insisted. “I’m not an idiot. Sarah said she’d help us take down Elias and I believe that much. We need to be prepared for what might come after.”

Melanie pushed off from where she was leaning against the wall. “And since you’re all so insistent that I not kill him. It’s either this or keep letting Elias pull our strings.” 

“Tim?” Martin asked, glancing down at the other man’s clenched fists. “Anything to add?” 

“You want me,” Tim forced through gritted teeth. “To ally with- with that  _ circus? _ ” He shook his head while his chest bounced with silent laughter. “Okay, fine. If this is what it’s come to then  _ fine _ . At least we’re finally doing something.” He slumped against the wall, suddenly exhausted. 

Jon eyed Tim warily. “Tim, are you--” 

“Fuck you and the tape recorder you rode in on.” 

Melanie’s eyes went wide. “Wait, are you recording this?” 

“I- I didn’t… I don’t remember bringing it down here.” 

“Well turn it off!” 

“Right, just a se--”

\---

It was a simple enough plan. The first step was to distract Elias with a series of small, targeted attacks from the circus. He spotted them easily enough but that was the point. Daisy had been sent off to dispatch them while presumably he watched from the safety of his office. 

Meanwhile Melanie, Tim, and Basira led Breekon and Hope and their chained coffin into the Institute through the tunnels. If they could get Elias in the coffin he would be neutralized; trapped but alive, and unable to enact whatever it was he was planning. 

Martin and Jon spent the afternoon in the Archives researching a statement as if it was any other day. They pointedly ignored the heavy footfalls and the scrape of wood on floor passing through the Archives and focused on the satellite images Martin brought him of Bucoda, Washington. 

“We’re just about upstairs.” Melanie’s voice was thick with static. The earpieces Daisy had given them barely worked in the Institute proper and didn’t work at all in the tunnels. 

Jon made himself wait three minutes for them to get in position before leaving his office to follow the others upstairs to Elias’s office.

Daisy shouted a warning over the radio but it ended in a burst of static replaced by the squeal of a steam organ. Jon doubled over, clutching his head and fumbling to remove the plastic hooked over his ear as deafening calliope music blasted into his skull. 

Someone grabbed him from behind. He hoped it was Martin or Tim pulling him to safety but the crush of what felt like an iron bar across his chest told a different story. Jon fought against his attacker only to be lifted bodily off the floor. His toes slipped on scattered papers from a fallen bookcase as he tried to gain enough leverage to kick backward. 

The arm around him constricted enough that he could barely breathe. “Come on, then,” growled a rough, cockney voice. “If you don’t stop strugglin’ then I have t’ keep squeezin’. Miss Orsinov won’t like it if I hafta break your ribs.” 

Lack of air and fear of splintered ribs drained the fight out of Jon and he hung limp in the courier’s arms. Everything passed in a blur of hypoxia and splintered wood. He couldn’t get enough air for a proper scream to call for help, only managing a choked wheeze. Deep laughter rumbled behind him as he was carried away. 

\---

The shock of landing on the van’s metal floor startled Jon back to consciousness. He rolled onto his side and coughed a few times before he was finally able to draw a full breath. By then the engine had kicked in and he was being carted away to god knows where. 

“Oh god,” Jon whispered as he curled in on himself as much as his bruised ribs would allow. 

His hand flew to his ear, desperately trying to find the earpiece Daisy had given him. “Daisy? Daisy, can you hear me?” There was nothing there. He had dislodged it in the confusion of the attack.  _ “Shit.” _

A noise behind him made Jon turn around so fast he would have fallen over if he wasn’t already lying on the floor. The metal chain was once again secured in place around the rough-hewn coffin but that didn’t stop the scratching from inside. 

Tim lay bruised and bloody just to the side of it. He hadn’t gone down without a fight, and they hadn’t been as gentle with Tim as they had with Jon. Blood matted down the hair on the left side of his face and a nasty bruise was forming on his temple that reached all the way down to his cheekbone. 

The motion of the van and Jon’s own residual dizziness made it impossible to tell if Tim was breathing. Jon crawled over and pressed his fingers to Tim’s neck only to have them immediately slapped away. 

“Gettoff me,” he mumbled still flailing his arm at Jon. 

“Tim, it’s me. It’s Jon.” 

“I know.”

“Oh… Th- Then why are you fighting me?” 

“Convenient target for my frustration.” The van hit a bump and Tim bit back a hiss of pain. He finally opened his eyes and rolled onto his back. When he caught sight of the coffin he immediately focused his vision on the ceiling. “This is bad isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jon agreed. “It’s bad.” 

Tim’s eyes wandered back to the coffin. “Did they at least get him?”

“I didn’t see, but I heard yelling and the creak of rusted hinges.  _ Someone  _ went in there. Maybe several someones.” Jon cocked his head slightly to one side. “Key’s in the lock, you could always check.” 

“Think I’ll pass on that one.”

Jon hummed his agreement and sat back against the wall. 

“Did you even try the door?” Tim asked after a few minutes had passed. 

“I’m not too keen on jumping out of a vehicle moving at speed.” 

“That’ll be a ‘no’ then.” Tim struggled to sit up. 

“Lie down, you probably have a concussion.” 

“I’ll just rest my head on the bouncing metal floor next to Dracula’s travel bed. I’m sure that will do wonders for my health.” 

Jon shrugged out of his cardigan, tossing it to Tim as he crawled over to examine the sliding door. “There’s no handle on this side.”

“Of course there isn’t. That would be too easy.” 

“Indeed.” 

“Speaking of easy, you wouldn’t happen to have your phone on you?”

Jon shook his head. “They took it before they tossed me in here. Didn’t see what happened to it. You?” 

“Watched him snap mine in half like a bar of chocolate. I’ve only had the thing for two months.”

“Maybe it’s still under warranty?” 

“Fingers crossed, maybe I’ll get lucky.” Tim let out a brief laugh that ended in a groan of pain. 

“For what it’s worth, Tim, I’m--” 

“Don’t.” Tim held up his hand to forestall Jon’s commentary. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

“I…” Jon started, and then thought better of it. 

\---

At least an hour had passed since they’d been taken. The initial panic had worn off, leaving Jon exhausted. Jon was thankful for the lack of rain. The two of them had wordlessly decided to ignore the coffin sitting next to them which would have been significantly harder to do if it were singing.

Jon was weighing the option of trying to take a nap against the wall when Tim suddenly spoke up.

“Do you think they’re taking us to the circus?” 

_ “Christ, _ Tim! I thought you were asleep.” 

“I dozed off for a bit, had a nightmare, and now I’m awake.” 

“Understandable.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Circus.” Tim enunciated the word like he was talking to a particularly stupid child. “Are they taking us there?”

“Seems likely,” Jon admitted. “If they were just going to kill us they probably would have done it by now. And the one that grabbed me mentioned Orsinov by name.” 

Tim scoffed.“Figures. I spent years trying to track them down, only for you to just blindly stumble into them. And then you go and drag me along with your  _ brilliant  _ ideas and here we are.” 

“I don’t…” Jon trailed off, confused. “You know about Orsinov’s circus?” 

“That’s personal,” Tim snapped. “You lost the right to hear my tragic backstory the second you decided it would be a good idea to camp out in the bushes in front of my flat. And don’t you  _ dare _ try and use any of your spooky interrogation powers on me.” 

\---

Upon arrival to whatever nightmare realm full of poorly rendered waxworks Nikola Orsinov chose as her lair, both he and Tim had been securely bound to chairs across from each other. Tim was left to spit and curse at their captors while the Archivist was subjected to the additional indignity of a gag. 

Nikola tittered with delight at the sight of her captives when she showed up to taunt them. The sound of her laughter froze Tim in place with a cold anger. She ignored him to focus on the Archivist she had recently acquired. Jon wasn’t in a position to do much other than glare and force muffled curses through the fabric filling his mouth as she ran her plastic fingers over his chest and tutted at the state of his skin. 

“Oh, Archivist, I’m so  _ excited _ you’re here. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of that skin of yours.” 

“Christ, what  _ is _ it with you and skin?” 

The mannequin dressed as a ringmaster finally turned her borrowed face toward Tim. “Now what have we here? My, you do look  _ familiar.  _ Have we met?”

“Fuck you.” 

She turned back to Jon and in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “This one is almost as rude as you! Is that where you learned it from?” Jon grunted and pulled against the ropes holding him in place as she circled behind Tim. “He may be rude but at least he cares for his skin. Too bad it’s been split open so badly.” She tapped a finger against the wound on his temple causing him to jerk away. 

“Don’t touch me!” 

“I know I’ve seen you before.”  _ tap  _ “I just need-”  _ tap _ “-to remember-”  _ tap _ “-where it was.”  _ tap _

“Covent Garden,” Tim spat out trying to move as far away from Nikola’s tapping finger as he could. “My brother. You took him.” 

“Oh, yes, of  _ course! _ How could I forget such an important night and exclusive performance?” She draped herself across his shoulders and toyed with his hair. “And now you’ve come back to us, silly thing! I would have thought you had learned your lesson, but…” She traced a finger along Tim’s jaw, forcing him to look at Jon. “Judging from the company you keep, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

A sneer twisted the features on Tim’s face. “What can I say? I’ve always been a fan of live theater.” 

“Perhaps we can arrange an encore performance!” she laughed. “I would  _ hate _ for the Archivist to feel left out.”

\---

Jon’s sense of time refused to cooperate, he had no idea how long it had been since Nikola had left them down there alone. The way Nikola fussed over his skin made Jon half tempted to give himself rope burn out of spite. Maybe if she thought he was damaging himself she’d loosen his bindings enough he might have a chance of escaping. 

Or she might just outright kill him and save herself the trouble. 

Tim was operating on the instincts of a trapped animal. He fought his restraints hard enough he would have knocked himself over if his chair hadn’t been bolted to the floor. Jon was helpless to do anything to calm him down. Even if he could make himself understood despite the gag, Tim didn’t want to hear anything Jon had to say. Eventually Tim slumped in his chair exhausted, defeated, or some combination of both. His breathing evened out in what Jon hoped was sleep. 

The Archivist fought to stay awake. He needed to see what was happening, even if he couldn’t do anything about it. Jon shifted in his seat and peered into the dim room until his vision blurred. Were the waxworks moving or was it a trick of the light? He shook his head but did little to clear it. Exhaustion pulsed at the edges of his thoughts and the fight became too much for him. Jon’s head fell to his shoulder and his eyes slip closed.

\---

  
  


Nikola found Jon’s tape recorder and decided it would be the perfect tool to send a ransom demand back to the Institute. She held a stained note up for Tim to see. “I wrote it myself but I think it would be better if  _ you _ read it!” 

“Well _ I  _ think it would be better if you would let us go. Or barring that, if you would go fuck yourself.” 

Jon shot him a glare and tried to communicate that maybe he shouldn’t be antagonizing a  _ literal monster _ . The look he got in return spoke volumes about Tim’s opinion of the color of pots and kettles.

“Oh, no. I can’t do that.” Her head cocked to one side in a parody of deep thought. “This is so much more fun. Her high pitched laugh echoed through the room. “You see there’s something I want back, and I think you have it!” Nikola booped the end of Tim’s nose. He tried to bite her finger but she pulled back quickly enough he wasn’t able to reach. “Well… not you specifically, otherwise I would already have it!” 

She held the note out again for Tim to read. He actually looked at it this time and rolled his eyes. “Is that hacky cliche supposed to scare me? A note written in blood?”

“You know how it is, there’s never a pen around when you need one.” 

“Uh-huh, sure. So we’re just ink wells wrapped in skin to you then?” 

Nikola pressed the tip of her plastic fingers against Tim’s throat, dimpling the skin with increasing pressure until Tim coughed. “Almost that exactly! I hope we don’t need to make any changes. But if we do, I know  _ just _ where to get the ink.” 

Jon yelled through his gag for her to stop. He would read the letter if Tim wouldn’t. 

Nikola abruptly released Tim and spun on her heel to walk over to Jon. “Oh, little Archivist, you ask too many questions to be allowed to use that nasty voice of yours.” She smoothed down his hair and pat him on the head eliciting a grumble from the back of his throat. “Don’t worry, when the Dance starts, you won’t need to speak.” She pinched his cheek above where the cloth cut into his face. “And you can scream _ all you want _ !”

\---

A breathy, high pitched voice spilled from the cassette player in Melanie’s hand. “Right, let’s try it again, shall we? From the top.” 

(The bloodstained envelope was sitting on the steps to the Institute that morning. It wasn’t labeled but after what happened Melanie knew it had to be from the circus. Martin caught her before she could load the tape in the player and insisted they listen together.) 

The tape whirred on. “If you insist,” Tim ground out. 

“I do! And make it sound  _ happy! _ You’re putting voice to  _ my  _ words, remember?”

Tim’s voice was tight with pain and slightly slurred but his message was clear enough: There was something Nikola wanted, a gorilla skin Gertrude had stolen, and she was willing to trade. The message didn’t specify exactly what she was willing to trade for it. Melanie was sure that was a deliberate omission on Nikola’s part. 

Jon’s muffled protestations could be heard in the background. He was very insistent they not do whatever it was Nikola wanted of them. When he got too loud there was the sound of something hard striking flesh, then a sharp inhalation of pain. After that Jon was quiet save for his labored breathing. 

“Bring me the skin. You have... Until I change my mind,” Tim finished.

Nikola clapped. “Excellent! I hope for your sake they bring it soon. If not, you’ll make a lovely doll. It would be wonderful to finally have a matched set!” 

Tim’s inarticulate cry was cut off when the tape ended. 

“But we don’t  _ have _ the gorilla skin!” Martin fumed. He drew his fist back to punch the tunnel wall then thought better of it. “With Elias gone and Jon and Tim kidnapped where would we even start looking for it? What are we going to do?” 

Daisy quirked her lip and offered an unsympathetic shrug. “I guess the enemy of our enemy was still our enemy after all.” 

End of Branch

To try it without the Circus’ help: [Jump to chapter 16](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47825650#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: kidnapping, canon-typical violence


	18. 18 - Hey Jude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melanie and Georgie have a coffee date

_ I’m downstairs, _ Melanie typed into her phone and sent it off to Georgie. A few moments later she received a series of emoji, the only one of which she recognized was a cup of coffee. She shook her head with a smile and waited for Georgie to meet her in front of her building.

Georgie threw open the door to her flat and greeted Melanie with a brief hug. “Ready for our coffee date?” 

“Is that what this is? I thought we were infiltrating enemy territory and attempting to turn an agent.” 

“Well, yeah, that too. But also an excuse to get the most obnoxious frozen drink ever and hang out. Ooh! If we’re going undercover I can use my American accent!” 

“Georgie…” 

Georgie skipped a few steps ahead of Melanie. “Oh, my god! I’m going to get a unicorn frappuccino!” 

“It’s an independent coffee shop, not a Starbucks.” 

“I know, that’s the best part. That’s why I’m posing as an American. Americans think all coffee shops are Starbucks.” 

Melanie hurried to catch up. “It’ll be better if we don’t make a scene.” 

“I know. That’s why I’m messing with you.” She nudged her shoulder into Melanie with a grin. “Besides, my American accent is terrible. But I  _ did _ get us some fancy spy gear.” Georgie pulled out a hand-held contraption similar in size and shape to a can of pepper spray and handed it to Melanie.

“Mace?”

“Better, an emergency bicycle tire inflator. There’s a cartridge of compressed CO2 in there. They’re really useful on long bike rides if you get a flat but it seemed like something that would be useful against hot, melty wax people.” 

“That’s actually brilliant.” 

Georgie tossed her head. “I know, I’m a genius.”

“How much is in this?” 

“Not a lot. Enough for a good spray or two. It’s more of a distraction than anything. It’s not cold enough to freeze someone’s face off, though it will probably hurt.” 

Melanie tucked the device in the side pouch of her purse where she could get to it quickly. “Thanks, Georgie.”

“No problem.”

\---

They nursed two rounds of coffee over the course of two and a half hours before deciding to call it a day. Neither of them had seen anyone resembling Jude Perry or anyone Jon had described as being a member of the Cult of the Lightless Flame. It had been nice to catch up with Georgie, but Melanie struggled not to see the afternoon as time wasted. 

They chatted some more on the way home and were just about to part ways when Melanie’s hackles raised. “That man, the one in the tank top by the bookshop? I’m pretty sure he’s following us.”

“Yeah, I was just about to say something. What do you want to do?”

“Stay here, I’m going to go talk to him.” 

“Melanie!” Georgie hissed. 

“We  _ did _ come out here to talk to someone, might as well actually do it. Keep your phone handy, just in case.” 

Georgie begrudgingly hung back and pretended to do some window shopping while Melanie approached the man in question. She refused to be intimidated, though she did stop shy of poking him in his well muscled (and likely scorching hot) shoulder. “‘Scuse me.” She decided to go for the direct approach. “Can I help you with something?” 

He turned to face her, feigning surprise. “I might ask you the same question.” 

“Uh-huh. Well, there was someone I want to talk to that you might be able to put me in touch with.” 

“That might be something I could do. Depends on who’s asking and who’s talking.” 

“Ever the helpful one, you are. I’d like to speak with Jude Perry if that’s something you can arrange.” 

He brushed away a lock of dark hair from his face. “And who might I say wants to see her?” 

“A friend.” 

“This friend got a name.” 

“Melanie.” 

“That’s it?”

“For now.”

“And this friend Melanie has business regarding?” 

“A mutual enemy.”

“That’s awfully vague.” 

Melanie was getting frustrated with cloak and dagger games. She wanted to get right to the point and get it over with. “I want her help to hurt someone. Before you ask that someone’s name is Elias and she should know who I mean.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise or perhaps appreciation at her choice of target. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“I’ll be in the park for another hour. After that I’ll just do it myself.” 

“I’ll let her know.” He turned and started back the way he’d come.

Melanie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, ever so much.” 

“Word of advice,” he shot over his shoulder. “Lose the attitude if you don’t want to lose something important to you.” 

Melanie’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

He shrugged and was on his way.

If you would like Melanie to ‘be more lovely’: [Proceed to chapter 19](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47827663#workskin)

If you would like Melanie to lose her temper: [Jump to chapter 20](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47827963#workskin)


	19. 19 - Be More Lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you get more flies with honey?

Melanie bit back the insult that she wanted to hurl in Jude’s direction. Jude had been nothing but condescending the entire time. She hadn’t  _ directly _ threatened Melanie yet but there had been plenty of allusions to what Jude could be capable of if she wasn’t feeling quite so magnanimous. 

“As much as appreciate this…” Melanie waved her hand between the two of them. “Whatever this is we’re having. I’d really like an answer. Will you help us?” 

Jude took in a deep, contented breath. She radiated a heat that made sweat bead on Melanie’s forehead and the hair stick uncomfortably to the back of her neck. 

“Mmmmm. Will I help you topple the head of the Magnus Institute?” She looked over to Melanie with toad like grin. “Do you feel that?”

She shook her head. “I don’t--”

“Exactly! Nothing. You ask a question and I don’t  _ have _ to answer. If I had known you were so weak I would have waltzed in and burned the place to the ground the moment I heard Gertrude was dead.” 

“Never met her.” 

Jude spat on the ground in front of her, a curl of steam rose from the concrete. “Bitch doesn’t even begin to describe her.” 

“And Elias?” 

“Stuck up prick.” 

“Well on that, we both agree.” Melanie shifted on the bench to face Jude more directly. “I will admit that I did actually laugh in Jon’s face when he told me exactly how you’d fucked up his hand, so nicely done there.” 

She buffed her fingernails on her shirt then examined them in the light. “I do what I can.” 

“And when it comes to Elias?”

“I would gladly bring a mountain of suffering down upon him.”

“Great--”

“But not for free.” 

Melanie fought back the urge to roll her eyes. “What’s your price?”

“Just a few strategically placed fires. Small ones, you’ll hardly even notice. Well, _ you _ won’t notice. Elias might and your Archivist certainly will.” Her cruel laugh was loud enough to startle a child playing down the path. “There’ll be enough left over to rebuild from the ashes. That’s my favorite part about phoenixes, they always come back so you can burn them again.”

If you’d like to explore a run down gym in Aberdeen: [Jump to chapter 21](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47828440#workskin)

Or how about a meeting with someone from the People’s Church of the Divine Host?: [Jump to chapter 25](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47829034#workskin)

If you’ve done all that: [Jump to chapter 28](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47830294#workskin)


	20. 20 - Temper Temper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we just can't all get along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

Melanie checked her watch, it had been over an hour and no sign of Jude Perry or anyone else. She was  _ bored _ . They decided for safety’s sake that Georgie would position herself down the path some so she could watch and step in if necessary. That meant that while she had a safety net, Melanie didn’t have anyone to talk to while she passed the time waiting on someone who might not even show up. 

Fifteen more minutes past, time to put an end to this waste of time. She had just gotten to her feet when a short woman with short, dark hair turned down the path toward her. It was a chilly afternoon but she wasn’t wearing a jacket. As she got closer, Melanie was able to see the faint shimmer of a heat aura rising from her bare skin. 

Her grin was smug as she made a show of looking Melanie up and down. “You must be Melanie.” 

“Jude.” Melanie ignored Jude’s extended hand. “You’re late.” 

She let her hand hang awkwardly in the air, daring her to shake it. “Am I? I hadn’t noticed.” Her smile widened as she stared up at Melanie. “Aren’t you going to shake my hand?”

”No.” Melanie’s fingers brushed against her purse, ready to grab the device Georgie had given her if Jude decided to force the issue. 

Jude harrumphed and dropped her hand with a shrug. “I was just trying to be polite.” 

“Bullshit. You were threatening to melt my hand off.” 

“Just singe it a little.” She hooked her thumbs through the belt loops in her jeans and cocked her hip to one side. “I could have offered you a hug. I give  _ great _ hugs, nice and warm...” 

“This was a waste of time.” Melanie rolled her eyes and turned to go. 

“Aww, don’t be like that! You’ve got so much anger boiling under your skin, it’s a shame not to stir it up a bit.” Jude draped herself across the park bench and gestured for Melanie to join her. Tiny bubbles formed in the paint where she propped her arm across the back. 

Melanie wrinkled her nose at the smell of burnt acrylic and forced herself to sit on the far side of the bench. She adjusted her purse to rest on her lap and folded her hands on top of it. Jude leaned back against the armrest and motioned for Melanie to speak.

“We have a common enemy.” 

“If you say so.”

Melanie did her best to ignore it and pressed on. “Your skill set would be  _ appreciated _ in our efforts to remove him from his current position.” 

Jude threw her head back and laughed with equal parts joy and malice. “You? Want to take down Elias? That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all month! If I had known you were all so weak I would have waltzed in there years ago and burned the place to the ground myself.” 

“Well if you had done that it would have saved me the trouble of ever working there so why didn’t you?” Melanie said through gritted teeth, “I think you’re all talk. That you’d rather sit around making idle threats than actually  _ do _ anything.”

It was Jude’s turn to have her hackles raised. “You have no idea who you’re talking to, little girl. Show some respect.” She leaned into Melanie’s space and whispered, “I  _ could _ take care of your little Elias problem but I think I’d rather teach you a lesson.” 

Before Jude could reach out to her, Melanie pulled the canister from her purse and squeezed the release button. A sharp burst of pressurized gas caught Jude full in the face and she fell backwards with a surprised yelp. 

“Fuck off, alpha bitch.” Melanie pushed forward, emptying the cartridge in Jude’s shrieking face. 

Georgie had warned her there wasn’t much but it still caught her by surprise at how quickly it sputtered and died. She only had a few moments to run before Jude recovered enough to chase her. There wasn’t time to think about where she was going so long as it was far away from here. 

Something caught her arm and wrenched her back. She could feel the heat through her jacket and smell the leather starting to cook. 

“I warned you to be polite,” The man from earlier chided. “And now look what you’ve done.” 

Melanie twisted in his grip but couldn’t wrestle her arm free. “Let go!” Punching him would only bury her arm in molten wax so she settled for hitting him with her bag. 

He didn’t bother to defend himself. He just stood there, holding Melanie’s rapidly blistering arm and laughing at her. “Come on, let’s go. She’ll be waiting on us.” He released her arm and shoved her forward to the park’s exit. 

Melanie had no intention of coming along quietly until she noticed that she didn’t see Georgie anywhere. The bench where she had been sitting was empty save for a discarded book on the ground next to it.

“What did you do to her?” she demanded.

“Do to who?” Muscle Mike (as Melanie had named him in her head) paused in confusion.

“Sorry to be such a wet blanket,” Georgie chimed in from over his shoulder before wrapping her dripping coat around him in a soggy bear hug, “but I thought you needed to cool off.” 

“Ah! What the- Get offa me!” 

Steam curled up from under Muscle Mike’s hair as Georgie wrapped the fabric around his face. She kneed him in the groin and then shoved him hard in the solar plexus. He stumbled backward into a tree and slid the rest of the way to the ground. 

Melanie stopped her before she could go in for another kick. “We need to go.” 

“Right,” she panted, pointing down the path and leading the way. 

They made it to a tube station unharassed and spent most of an hour changing trains more or less at random until they were sure they weren’t being followed. Again. 

“I really liked that coat,” Georgie sighed. 

“We’re not going back for it.” 

“I didn’t say that!” 

Melanie laughed, “But you were thinking it.” 

“I was n--” she huffed. “Okay, maybe a little bit. But you have to admit soaking it in the half frozen lake was a great plan.” 

“It was. Right up until you called yourself a wet blanket and told him to chill.”

Georgie elbowed Melanie gently in the side. “Hey! I’ll have you know I spent a good three minutes coming up with that line. Also, I believe I said, ‘cool off.’” 

“Of course you did.” Melanie rolled her eyes. “You’ve seen too many cheesy action movies.” 

“Pretty sure I earned that cheesy action movie moment.” 

“Thanks again for coming with me.” 

“You know me, I’m always down for an action movie coffee date.” 

“You’ll be the first one I call if I ever do something like that again.” 

Georgie grinned brightly, “I appreciate that.” 

Melanie mirrored her expression. “Any time.” 

“Well, unless you think we need to transfer lines again, this is my stop.” 

“You sure you don’t want my coat?” Meanie asked. “My sweater is warmer than it looks.”

“Nah.” Georgie waved her away. “I don’t live that far from the station. And besides,” she paused to pose dramatically looking over her shoulder at Melanie.

“Don’t--” 

“The cold never bothered me anyway.” 

Melanie buried her face in her hands and pretended to cry. “Why?”

Georgie blew her a kiss and backed out of the train car. “Love you too, Melanie!”

\---

Melanie dumped her bag and was halfway into her flat before she noticed the smell of burning plastic. “Oh, no,” she breathed, tasting smoke in the air.

Jude’s cruel laughter and and the rush of flames filling her living room were the only reply. 

End of Branch

To try and be more lovely: [Jump to chapter 19](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47827663#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: canon-typical violence, major character death (implied)


	21. 21 - Aberdeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Martin take a trip up to Scotland and discuss bad movies
> 
> Spoilers for terrible 90s movies Cube and Deep Blue Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

Basira’s contacts had come through with enough information for Martin to track down an address for the gym in Mr. Davenport’s statement. Which meant for the second time in as many weeks, Martin was on a road trip with an uncommunicative coworker. 

Not that _ he _ was overly inclined to talk to Tim at the moment. There had only been a single ticket when Martin met Tim at the station ready to board the train to Aberdeen. 

“You said you had Rosie book it for us!” 

“I had Rosie book it for  _ me _ . You’ve got to submit your own forms.” Tim was unapologetic. “Turns out, working for a scary, magic psychopath doesn’t cut through as much bureaucracy as you’d think.” He rubbed his chin for a moment. “There might actually be more, now that I think of it.” 

“Well…” Martin floundered. “What am I supposed to do now? 

“I dunno, steal a ticket?” 

“I can’t do that!” 

“Hop the gate and sneak on the train?”

“I’m not some fifteen year old kid jumping the turnstile on the tube.” 

“Then I don’t know what to tell you.” Tim shrugged. “Looks like you have to buy a ticket here or drive up and meet me there.” 

Martin groaned in frustration. “If I’m going to do that, I might as well fly. It might even be quicker.” He shook his head. “But then I’d still have to get to the airport and by the time I deal with all that…” 

“Whatever you do, make up your mind soon, the train’s about to leave.” 

Martin begrudgingly bought his ticket at the station after Tim promised to help him file for reimbursement. Through a minor comedy of errors involving two broken printers and an empty ink cartridge he nearly missed his train getting a receipt. By the time he got himself settled in his seat he wasn’t really on speaking terms with Tim. If Tim noticed, he didn’t comment on his pointed silence as Martin plugged in his headphones and sat back to listen to the latest episode of The Biscuit Review Podcast. 

It wasn’t a very long episode, but Martin had calmed down significantly by the time it was over. He turned to say something to Tim only to find the other man snoring softly in his seat. He almost decided to wake him out of petty spite but decided it was better if he let it go and tried to get some rest himself.

\---

The boarded up gym occupied the corner spot of a line of storefronts that weren’t exactly bustling but they at least looked open. The coffee shop in the middle looked to be the most likely place to get any useful information. 

No one they spoke to could remember a time when the gym had ever been open. One person recalled some renovation noise years ago but no sign of a grand re-opening or anything like that. Apparently one of the other stores looked in to expanding into that space recently but the building owner had some kind of contract and wouldn’t lease it out. 

Eventually they had run out of people to talk to and the only thing left to do was to have a look inside the gym itself. 

“I don’t see why we have to do this now. I vote we take the rest of the day off and enjoy the, oh, I don’t know…” Tim gestured vaguely to the sky. “Enjoy the time away from our basement prison where we wait around for the next thing to try and kill us.” 

“Would you rather we do this in the dark?”

“Breaking and entering _ is _ traditionally done after nightfall, but you have a point.” He sighed heavily. “Do you want to stretch first?” 

“Stretch? Wha-- I don’t?” 

“In case we need to run,” Tim said with only the barest trace of humor. 

“Ah. Um...” Martin fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “I mean… once around the block couldn’t hurt?” 

“If nothing else it will keep us from standing across the street staring at the place like the worst pair of cat burglars ever.” He looked Martin up and down and tutted in disapproval. “Honestly, Martin, pastels? You’re the one who planned this trip.”

“I  _ suggested _ the trip, you planned it,” Martin mumbled under his breath as he walked away, kicking a stone in front of him. “Clearly, not well enough.”

Tim followed a short way behind, pointedly ignoring Martin’s fuming about wardrobe choices and train tickets. All too soon they were stood in front of the building again. 

“Well, here goes.” Tim squared his shoulders and walked with purpose to the door. The handle turned but the door didn’t swing open. “Not locked but I think the frame is warped.” 

“Is that a good sign or a bad sign?”

“Dunno, they’re either still open for business despite the boarded up windows or we’re the first ones dumb enough to actually try and break in.” Tim leaned hard against the door with his shoulder and planted a sharp kick in the lower corner, knocking it free. “Looks like we’re in.” 

The inside looked just as abandoned as the outside. The smell of mildew and damp paper hung in the air, almost covering the salt tang of old sweat that permeated the walls. Tim closed the door behind them but didn’t force it back into its fame before tuning on his torch. 

“Do you want to check the offices first or the gym?” Martin whispered.

“Neither,” said Tim. Then after a beat, “The gym, I guess. Let’s get this over with.” 

Light filtered in weakly through a row of dirty windows set high in the wall. The layer of dust covering everything kicked up as they walked through the space. It must have been years since anyone used any of the equipment in there. Martin coughed and pulled his shirt up over his nose to keep from breathing it in, trying not to think too hard about how much dead skin he’d heard was in dust. 

Opening the changing room revealed a frozen aftermath of chaos in the torchlight. All the locker doors were dented or sheared off their hinges. The metal was torn through on many of them, as if something incredibly strong had violently forced its way out. 

“Jesus,” Tim breathed. “Are we  _ sure _ we want to talk to these… people?”

Martin was transfixed by the way one of the locker doors resembled flower petals, peeled open by whatever it was escaped or hatched. It was precise enough to have been deliberate. Whatever did this, it wasn’t mindless.

“Martin?” Tim tried again.

Martin spun around with a startled yelp. He was quick to clap a hand over his mouth as it echoed in the high ceilinged room. “Sorry,” he whispered. 

Now on high alert, Tim checked for any movement around them. “We should go. Now.” 

Martin nodded vigorously and pushed through the door back into the main gym only to freeze in place. 

“What’s the hold up?” hissed Tim at his shoulder. 

A third set of footprints tracked through the dusty floor. It followed their path to the midpoint of the gym where it broke off toward the weights. The clank of metal on metal filled the air as whoever-- whatever it was in there with them set down something very heavy and then picked it back up again. 

They needed to get out and the only way back was through the gym. Tim desperately hoped something that sounded so large wouldn’t be able to manage much in the way of speed or agility. It was the only way they stood a chance of getting out of there.

“We have to run for it,” Tim breathed. Martin was frozen in front of him, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. “Come on!” He shoved Martin in the shoulders to break him out of his trance and pushed past him into a sprint. A half second later he heard Martin start running behind him. 

Martin didn’t look it, but after Prentiss Tim knew he would be able to keep up. Fear and adrenaline could do wonders. 

Tim could hear thick, fleshy steps lumbering after them and a meaty growl that might have been words echoing across the gym. He spared a glance to his left and saw something that at one time might have been a man-- might have been several men judging from the number of limbs it had. It was building speed and heading to intercept them at the door. 

The layout of the gym was in their favor, it had to shift its bulk through the equipment, slowing it down considerably. Tim made it to the door with Martin on his heels. There was a crash on his left as Jared decided it would be easier to run  _ through _ the equipment than  _ around _ it. 

Tim’s hand was slick with sweat and the handle refused to turn. He fumbled with it a second time before he realized. 

“Shit!”

Martin was gasping for breath. “What?” 

“Locked.” Another crash, closer this time. “Go, just go!” Tim pushed Martin back into motion and they ran along the wall. 

“There has-” Martin gasped, “has to be a, ah, a fire exit or  _ something! _ ” 

“If we can find it.” 

_ “GET BACK HERE!” _ A booming, wet voice demanded. 

There was a grunt and a shriek of metal. Tim checked over his shoulder just in time to see Jared hurl the sheared off arm of a weight machine straight for them. 

“Get down!” He dove on top of Martin, pulling him to the ground. The metal hit the opposite wall with enough force to crack the cinderblock and shatter the window above it. 

Martin scrambled to his feet and pulled Tim up after him. “Changing room?” 

“Absolutely not.” He shot a frantic glance around the gym when he spotted a door in the corner. “This way!” 

Jared charged after them, gaining steadily now that he was moving in a straight line. 

This door wasn’t locked and opened easily in Tim’s hand. He was halfway through when he recognized the hallway on the other side and tried to backpedal. Martin wasn’t expecting him to stop and slammed into him from behind, sending them both sprawling to the carpeted floor. 

Before either of them could regain their footing, the pale, yellow door swung closed behind them with a telltale squeal of hinges in need of oil. Jared’s bellows cut off leaving them with only the sound of their own ragged breathing in the warm air. 

\---

Tim slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. “I’m staying right here and you should too.” He crossed his legs at the ankle and tipped his head back as if he might take a nap. 

“Shouldn’t we at least  _ try _ and find our way out?” 

“And how did that work out the last time we were here? You’re welcome to do that but I won’t be coming with you.” 

“We should stick together.” 

“I’m not arguing that point. What I am saying is that I don’t see the point in wasting my energy exploring a weird hallway dimension where looking at the walls gives me a migraine.”

Martin crossed his arms. “So you’re giving up?”

“No, I’m waiting.” 

“Waiting for  _ what!?” _

“Martin.” Tim sat up a little straighter to face him. “Have you ever seen the movie Cube?”

“I-- wha--? What does that have to do with anything?” 

“I’ll take that as a no.” 

Martin gave up on trying to glare at Tim and leaned against the wall across from him. “No, Tim. I haven’t seen the movie Cube.” 

Tim cocked an eyebrow. “Spoiler alert for a movie that came out in the late nineties.” 

“Sure, fine. Whatever.” Martin rolled his eyes and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor too. 

“Just wanted to check.”

“Tim! Just tell me whatever it is you’re trying to say!”

Tim suppressed a bit of a grin at Martin’s level of exasperation. It really was easy to wind him up, though now was probably not the best time. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen it so you’ll have to forgive me if I get some of the details wrong.” Martin glared at him but he ignored it and continued on. “Basically, there are a bunch of people who wake up in freaky, sci-fi rooms with no memory of how they got there. On each wall-- floor and ceiling too-- there are doors to other rooms like a fucked up three dimensional maze.” 

“Uh-huh.” Martin waved his hand in a ‘get on with it’ motion.

“Some of the rooms are trapped-- most of them actually. Poison gas, acid, monofilament wire that slices you into tiny pieces before you realize you’ve walked through it-- that kind of thing.” 

“Mazes. Traps. Monsters?”

Tim shook his head. “No monsters.”

“Lucky them,” Martin deadpanned.

“Anyway, they make their way through the maze. Oh yeah! I almost forgot, the rooms around them shift around sometimes. I don’t remember if that was important….” Tim chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment thinking. “Something to do with finding the right room at the right time that will line up with a door to the outside.”

“Okay, so that’s  _ kind of _ relevant but I’m not seeing--”

“I’ll get there,” Tim cut him off. “Besides, are you in a hurry?”

Martin blew out a long breath and settled in more comfortably against the wall. “I suppose not.”

“So, they spend the movie going through these rooms, getting killed off by traps or each other because it’s a sci-fi  _ horror _ movie and that means only one person left standing at the end. They finally get to the room they’re looking for at the end of this long, drawn out, deadly process…” 

Tim clearly wanted Martin to ask him to finish but he wasn’t in the mood to play along. He let Tim hang for a while before finally breaking. “Okay fine, what was in the room?”

“It was the same room they started in. If they had just stayed put and waited, they would have been fine.” 

Martin nodded. “So we’re staying here because of a sci-fi horror movie you saw in the nineties.” 

“No, we’re staying here because it’s been a long day and I want to sit down.” Martin scoffed but Tim carried on with a hand on his chest and an air of mild offense. “And I’ll have you know I didn’t see Cube in the nineties. I saw it at a friend’s bad movie night a couple of years ago. How old do you think I am?” He held up a hand to forestall comment. “Don’t answer that.” 

That actually managed to pull a tired laugh from Martin. “At least walking passes the time.” 

“Does it though? One hallway looks the same as another as another as another.” 

“Sometimes the carpet or the walls will change color.” 

“Pallet swapping doesn’t count.” Tim scratched his ear. “I’m just saying the level design of this game could be better. Once you’ve played it once, it’s all the same.” 

“I still feel like we should at least be looking for the door out of here.” 

“Why? I’m done playing games with things like Michael and whatever that was out there.” 

“Jared,” Martin offered.

“We didn’t find the door last time, it was given to us. We’re not getting out of here until Michael gets bored and decides to let us out, so I plan to be boring.”

“What if he-- it, decides to kill us?”

“Then we’re fucked, but we were pretty fucked back there so…” Tim shrugged and leaned back to watch the patterns in the ceiling until he had to close his eyes against them. 

Martin pulled his knees to his chest, crossed his arms over top, and rested his forehead on them. “I reckon sleeping here is still a bad idea.” 

“Probably. My adrenaline is starting to crash though and I might just do it anyway.” 

“We should keep talking, try and keep ourselves awake.” Martin suggested, looking up.

“Sure, anything but work though.”

“Anything but work,” he agreed. “Bad movie night? What else was at that party?”

“Oh god, there were some bad ones but the worst was probably The Core. If you ever meet anyone who’s studied physics and want to give them an aneurysm, mention The Core.” 

\---

“And that’s how you bake a vegan chocolate cake from scratch!” Martin finished.

“I didn’t know you were vegan.”

“I’m not, it’s a war cake recipe that came about because rationing limited the availability of eggs, milk, and butter. If anything it’s vegan by accident.”

“Huh.”

\---

“And then I woke up at home. Never did figure out how I got that scar on my leg though.” 

\---

“I spy with my little eye, something that begins with… P.” 

“This is a dumb game.”

\---

“And in the middle of his monologue. The middle! He’s trying to rally everyone together but before he finishes the genetically modified, hyper-intelligent shark bursts up from behind him and eats him mid sentence.” 

“Why was LL Cool J in this movie again?”

“Nobody knows.”

\---

“Do you think we should try and find that woman we saw the last time?”

“I told you, I’m not moving.” 

“I just thought I heard crying is all.” 

\---

“...to John Lithgow in Planet of the Apes, Lithgow to Footloose with Kevin Bacon. Come on, give me a hard one.”

\---

“So my favorite thing about Keats…”

\---

“I spy with my little eye...” 

“I thought you said you hate this game.” 

“I really do.” Tim sighed deeply, wishing for death. “I really do.”

\---

Martin wasn’t sure how long he had spent folding and refolding his train receipt. Someone taught him how to make a paper crane once and he’d spent the next two days folding scraps of paper into birds. Of course now he couldn’t remember how it was done. When Tim started laughing at him, Martin waded up the page and threw it at him, reimbursement be damned. 

“Hey! What was that for?” 

“You’re laughing at me!” 

“No, I’m not.” Tim’s eyes went wide as he finally heard the laughter too. “Get up, looks like he's finally decided to make an appearance.” 

“Right.” Martin scrambled for the wadded paper and shoved it in his pocket before climbing unsteadily to his feet. 

The laugh echoed back on itself and around them increasing in volume until they both had their hands pressed against their ears. Martin thought his head was in danger of splitting in two when it finally stopped, leaving the faint whine of tinnitus to fill the void left by Michael’s laughter. 

Michael was nowhere to be seen, but the hallway around them had changed. The plush, black carpet running down the center of the hall was now the rusted brown of old blood and the texture made Martin glad he was no longer sitting on it. On either side of the hallway were two doors, mirror images of each other. 

“Choose.” Michael’s lilting voice warped around them. 

“What if we don’t want to play your game?” Tim spat.

“Then choose to stay and be devoured here. It will not be pleasant, nor will it be quick,” he laughed. “But who’s to say it will be worse than any other fate.” 

“Wh- What’s outside the doors?” Martin asked. 

“Two possible fates across two previously traversed thresholds.” 

Tim ground his teeth. “Not helpful.”

“No, I suppose it’s not.” Michael’s laughter drove them both to their knees. “But that’s the game,” he sighed then burst forth with fresh giggles. “Such as it is!” 

Martin’s brow furrowed in thought. “Thresholds we’ve crossed in general or from wherever here is?” 

Michael’s voice was filled with delight. “What an  _ excellent _ question! But since you crave context so desperately… Neither door opens to a place they have never not existed.” 

“I, um… I think I know where they go.” 

“Great, care to share with the rest of the class?” 

“One of them leads to Jon’s office in the Archives and the other…” 

“Right back where we came from,” Tim finished. “At least it’s been long enough that meat boy should have wandered off by now.” 

Michael’s laugh bounced off of itself with amusement. “Time is… Well, it’s something you’ve run out of. Make your choice.” 

  
Door #1: [Jump to chapter 22](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47828575#workskin)   
Door #2: [Jump to chapter 23](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47828788#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: canon-typical violence 
> 
> Deepest, bluest,  
My hat is like a shark's fin


	22. 22 - Door #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Monty Hall voice] What's behind door number one?

“Door number one it is then.” Tim grasped the handle nearest to him and twisted. The moment he cracked the seal Tim and Martin found themselves standing in the middle of Jon’s office. 

“Ohthankgod,” Martin breathed out in a rush, immediately slumping into the chair opposite Jon’s desk. 

“Nice to see the place not covered in pureed old man.” 

“Tim!” Martin turned around to berate Tim and nearly fell out of the chair when he saw Michael looming over him. “T-Tim…”

“What? That’s what we came back to the last time. I was just saying it's a pleasant surprise--”

“Tim...” Martin stood slowly like he was afraid of startling the creature in the room with them. “It followed us.”

Tim grimaced and turned to face it. “I guess I chose the wrong door.”

“There is no  _ wrong,” _ Michael intoned. “Only  _ different _ . If you had chosen the other door you would be in a different place. If you had chosen neither door, you would be dead.” It cocked its head too far to the side. “Which I suppose is another  _ different _ place.”

“Why did you follow us?” Martin asked, nearly managing to hide the quaver in his voice. 

The air around Michael’s face split into a broad grin that made him look away. “You’re planning something and I would like to watch. Surely the Archivist can’t begrudge me wanting to  _ watch _ your little coup.”

Tim and Martin exchanged nervous glances. Martin stepped forward until he was next to Tim before asking, “Will you help us?”

Tim sent a shocked look and hissed, “ _ What are you doing?” _

“Help you?” Michael tapped a bladed finger on the end of its chin. “No, I don’t think I will  _ help  _ you _ . _ I think watching will do… for now.” It opened a yellow door that was never there and was gone long before Michael’s laughter finished echoing in Jon’s office. 

They stood in silence, staring at the blank wall when Tim suddenly cursed.

“What?” Martin jumped and began looking for whatever threat Tim must have spotted.

“My laptop,” he sighed. “It’s still in Aberdeen.”

Martin was too exhausted to try and hide his smile. “Looks like you can either buy another train ticket or drive up there and get it.” 

“Smartass.” 

\---

Martin and Tim’s extended absence didn’t seem to concern Elias much, if at all. Jon wasn’t lying when he told Elias he didn’t know where they were (well, maybe at first). He could track them as far as Aberdeen but then… nothing for days. He was sure they weren’t dead though he couldn’t put into words why he knew that. They were just  _ gone. _

Elias simply smiled and made a cryptic remark about how Tim should know better and Martin would learn that lesson as well by the time they returned. “Honestly, Jon,” Elias sighed with more disappointment than anger. “I expected you to keep better track of your people.” 

Laughter from his office set Jon on edge as he returned from his meeting with Elias. It had been so long since he’d heard either of them actually laugh that it took Jon a moment to realise who it was. He pushed open the door to find Tim and Martin practically collapsed with it in his office. From what he could tell it was something about a laptop and a train ticket though neither of them could catch their breath long enough to adequately explain why it was so hilarious. 

Regardless, it was a relief to have them back. Even if Tim kept insisting they all sit down and watch the movie Deep Blue Sea for some reason. 

  
  


If you’d like to talk to Jude Perry: [Jump to chapter 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47827153)

Or how about a meeting with someone from the People’s Church of the Divine Host?: [Jump to chapter 25](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47829034#workskin)

If you’ve done all that: [Jump to chapter 28](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47830294#workskin)


	23. 23 - Door #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very bad things happen. Bad things that involve boneturning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes
> 
> I usually warn at the bottom so people can avoid spoilers but for this chapter I'm going to warn for graphic body horror up here as well.
> 
> So yeah, CW: graphic body horror

“Let’s see what’s behind door number two.” Tim ignored the damp squish of the rug as he crossed to pull open the door beside Martin. 

Tim realised his mistake when sweat tinged air flooded over him. He pushed hard against the door to no avail. The harder he pushed the more Michael’s door forced itself open. 

“Tim.”

“Yes, Martin. I know.” 

“Th- that’s not what I’m worried about. The hallways, they’re gone.” 

Tim finally looked over his shoulder and sure enough the gently curving corridors that stretched off in either direction had gone. They were now trapped in a space the size of a hall closet and it was shrinking around them. 

“Christ. From the frying pan to the fire and right back into the frying pan.” 

Michael’s laughter sent knives into Tim’s ears and he tasted blood on the back of his throat.

Martin climbed around Tim to avoid being trapped between the door and the shrinking wall. “Maybe he’s gone?” 

“Doesn’t matter” Tim said, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose. “We can’t stay here.” 

The two of them landed in a clumsy pile on the dust covered floor. Any hope that they had managed to do so quietly died as the hinges from Michael’s door let out an elongated screech. It closed and latched behind them with a sense of gleeful finality. 

“Well, well, well.” Jared’s words were chewed over too many teeth. “Look what we ‘ave ‘ere.” 

Tim looked up to find that they were boxed in. Apparently Michael had left his door on this side of reality the entire time they had been gone. Jared had taken advantage of their time away and piled the twisted gym equipment into a cage around Michael’s door. 

Martin climbed to his feet and faced the direction of Jared’s voice. “Hello. I, um, I’m from the Magnus Institute and--” 

“Shut it.” Jared boomed. “You lot are always stickin’ their noses in where it ain’t wanted.” He pulled a weight bench from the pile to make himself an opening into the makeshift cell. “You come in ‘ere,  _ trespassing _ and when I catch you at it you run off ta play seven minutes in heaven with each other.” 

“That’s not--” Martin started.

“I said  _ shut it!”  _

Tim gripped Martin by the shoulder with a firm squeeze. “Sorry about the train,” he whispered, putting himself between Martin and the rapidly approaching Jared. 

“T- Tim? I- I don’t--” Martin moved shoulder to shoulder with Tim. They were going to face this together.

“Aww, inn’t that sweet. You two had a row and now you’re going to kiss and make up.” 

They exchanged glances, then took off running in different directions. Jared may have been slow, but in close quarters he had the advantage (and the extra arms) to snag them both before they could get behind him. He pulled them, kicking and struggling, until they were stood facing each other. 

“Now  _ kiss,” _ Jared grumbled, locking a massive hand around each of their heads. 

Martin’s quick breaths tickled against Tim’s skin as their faces were pushed steadily closer. They both tried twisting away but they might as well have been two dolls in Jared’s hands. Jared tilted their heads to the side at the last minute so they wouldn’t break their noses when he forced their mouths together.

For a heartbeat, Tim though he might leave it at that. He hoped Jared would be satisfied with the painful clack of teeth and the taste of blood from his cut lip. Jared laughed like wet gravel over meat and  _ pushed  _ until bone met bone. Skin parted with a slick noise and a sensation like distant tearing. Martin’s scream of pain was cut off when the lower half of his jaw fused with Tim’s. A half breath pulled sharply in through his nose was all he got before it too was melded with Martin’s flesh, sealing off both of their airways. 

Jared left them staring eye to eye with a single breath trapped between them. For a frantic moment Martin’s breath out forced too much air into Tim’s lungs. The excess pushed its way up his sealed nose with enough pressure to pop his ears so hard he thought he might have ruptured an eardrum. 

With as fast as their hearts were beating they had a minute, maybe a minute and a half of consciousness left. Tim tried to look anywhere than Martin’s tear-filled eyes and focus on a plan. Martin probably thought he was panicking the way his eyes darted around and was frantically clawing at his face. He tried to ask about the corkscrew Martin used to carry around but wasn’t sure which end of his mouth had his tongue and the way their jaws were fused didn’t allow for movement. 

Martin coughed on his air. God, was he poisoning him? Shit, he had to  _ think of something! _

There was a sharp pain in his cheek, different from the pain of fused flesh. Martin sobbed into his mouth but kept digging with his thumb, trying to tear an opening to let in some fresh air.

“Oh, no, that won’t do.” Jared released their heads long enough to pin their arms to their sides, fusing their joints as he went. 

Tim felt another rush of air into his lungs that sent him reeling. He blinked the tears from his eyes in time to see Martin’s lose their focus and slip closed. He tried to call Martin’s name but all he could manage was a moan in the back of his throat that did nothing to wake him. 

He watched the blood drain from Martin’s now slack face as black spots filled his vision and consumed his consciousness moments later. 

End of Branch

To go back and try Door #1: [Jump to chapter 22](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47828575#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: graphic body horror, major character death, boneturning 
> 
> Just so you know, I think this is the closest I've ever gotten to writing Tim/Martin


	24. 24. Do Not Enter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

**You Shouldn’t Be Here**

You shouldn’t be here. You, yes, you, have done something you shouldn’t. Eventually curiosity gets the best of you and you go looking in dangerous places. 

Open doors without thinking…

It catches your eye, isn’t locked, and before you know it a hallway is stretching out in front of you, endless and forever. For just a moment you freeze, convinced your eyes are showing you some kind of optical illusion. It has to be some kind of trick of the mirrors dotting various points along the corridor. 

A muffled click behind you sends your stomach dropping to the floor. You know before you turn the door will be gone, or maybe it was never there to begin with. Panicked laughter bubbles up from your chest and echoes harshly in the unnatural geometry of the space. It hurts your ears but at least it’s  _ something _ in the otherwise silent space.

There has to be a way out, and there’s only one way to go. You shoot the occasional glance behind you on the off chance that the door has reappeared but no luck. Before long the hallway descends like a parody of a Kubric film. You laugh again. This time the plush carpet swallows the sound before it can spread. Would it be better or worse to turn back around and find twin girls asking to play? (forever and ever and ever and--)

It’s hot. Well not hot, but warm and you must have been walking for-- best not to think about that. You’ve taken every left turn you’ve come across and you’ve learned the hard way not to look too closely at the portraits on the walls. Or the mirrors. 

Especially the mirrors.

There was someone, not you, reflected in the mirror you last dared to pause in front of. She slumped, crying, against the wall. Not strong enough to hold herself fully upright, but too proud to slide all the way to the floor. No sound accompanies the sobs shaking her shoulders. You know she won’t be able to help you but maybe it would be better to not be alone in this place. 

She isn’t there when you turn around. Nothing you saw in the mirror is the same. The carpet is red now and another branch curves off gently to your left. Confused, you look back to face a floor to ceiling painting of a blond haired woman, features stretched and pulled in such a way you’re not sure if it was ever trying to depict a human. 

  
  


\---

  
  


You have seen the crying woman several more times but she never responds to your calls and whenever you try to approach her, you only ever find your own reflection. Each time it looks less and less like you and more like the twisted beings rendered in thick swirls of paint along the walls. There are no velvet ropes to hinder you from indulging your impulse to touch the paintings. It’s the heat that stops you. Uncomfortably warm, like a living thing. You decide it’s better not to disturb them. 

  
  


\---

Time is hard to follow when the lights never dim and hunger gnawing in your belly fades to the background like so much white noise. It has to have been days, maybe weeks. Long past when you should have died of dehydration.(and starvation, and sleep deprivation) You’re not even sure you  _ can _ die in this place. 

There is something in here with you. Maybe you can’t die on your own, but you know that whatever _ it _ is will be able to kill you. For now it seems content to hover on the edges of your awareness, a flash of something sharp in the corner of your eye, a bloodied corpse painted in every frame you pass. If you stop you know you’ll see your own eyes staring dead and lifeless back at you. 

You don’t stop. 

\---

Something like laughter pours down the walls and shakes the floor under your feet. Your hunter has found a different prey and is toying with it like a well-satisfied cat. A left turn appears and you take it. It’s the only constant you have,  _ always go left, _ so you take it and hope the laughter fades. 

\---

The scream pierces right through your ears and into your brain, dropping you to your knees. The walls and paintings and mirrors all pulse and twist like everything around you is having a seizure. Every frame, every mirror shows the crying woman. Only she isn’t crying anymore. 

The mirror in front of you cracks but does not shatter. Blood wells up along the edges, flowing down in crimson streaks to pool on the yellow carpet. 

Every mirror is cracked and bleeding until they’re not. The glass heals with a high pitched whine more felt than heard. The plush, yellow fibers thirstily absorb every drop of blood until the stains are no longer there, never were there. The yellow pales to a light gold, the color of the crying woman’s hair. 

Now that the walls have stopped shaking, you can see the hard edges in the architecture have smoothed out somewhat. Right angles now gently curve and the light level dims ever so slightly. 

The no longer broken mirror reflects the woman supporting a thin man under one shoulder. He looks confused as she walks him steadily away. A strangled yelp escapes your lips when you turn and find them solidly there a ways down the hallway. 

You push past the weakness and exhaustion in your limbs and sprint to catch up with the two of them. Before long a stitch in your side slows you down to a limping gallop. The two of them pause in front of a painting-- No, wait, a mirror-- No, wait, a  _ doorway! _ The harder you run, the farther they are. You shout but neither acknowledge you at all. 

The Archivist, that’s what she calls him, The Archivist stumbles through the open door and disappears.

Finally the woman looks up to you, sees you. You’re not sure what to say, you’re not sure your voice will even work after so long in this place. You suddenly realize that maybe you were better off alone here after all.

Long-fingered hands (too long, much too long) very deliberately close the door. She meets your eyes with a strange, sharp grin and laughter in those once crying eyes. 

  
  


End of Branch?

  
  


Pick a door, any door (if you can find one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: blood
> 
> You broke through the confines of the media and found the secret ending!!!  
I always loved it when CYOA had a section you could only find by "cheating". The completionist in me always had to flip through page by page when I was done to make sure I had found everything. I had to make sure to include one in my own story.
> 
> I'm honestly curious who all ends up finding it. Let me know in the comments


	25. 25 - Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay darkness!

Basira looked drained as she approached Jon’s office and sat down in the chair across from him. “Would you like something to drink?” he offered. “Tea? Or something stronger?”

She considered it for a moment before shaking her head. “No, I’d better not.”

“It didn’t go well then?”

“Better than I expected, honestly. It’s just…” Basira shrugged. “It is what it is.” 

Jon nodded and waited for her to continue. 

“I was able to find out where they’re holding the three people arrested the night Rayner died. Well, two now. I guess one of them had some kind of ‘accident’ during initial processing. As far as I can tell, no one official has ever questioned them.” 

“Then they would have to admit something happened. Officially”

“Exactly,” she scoffed. “Turns out it was actually easier to arrange a visit now that I’m not police. Nothing I do can be considered an ‘official investigation’ anymore.”

Jon perked up from behind his desk. “You’ve spoken to them.” 

“One of them, the other…” Basira took a deep breath before singing,”’Forever blind, forever blind, the Watcher drowns, in pitch black night.’ Just kept singing that over and over getting more frantic until they were screaming. Thing is, I swear their eyes were a pale blue when I first went in there but-- when the officer pulled me out of the room, their eyes were entirely black. And not in the dilated pupils sense, _ entirely _ black.”

“Well that’s… unsettling. And not particularly helpful.” 

“You’re telling me. The other one, Charles Lakewood, was more talkative, if incredibly bitter. He’d assumed that someone from the church would have, ‘called unholy darkness down upon those who served a corrupt version of justice’ or at least bailed him out by now.” 

“Charming,” Jon deadpanned. 

“_He _ certainly thought so, actually tried to flirt with me at one point.”

“How did that go for him?”

“He’s still in jail and I have information on how to find Rayner’s right hand, Manuela Dominguez.” 

“I’ve heard of her. She was on the Daedalus mission. I’ve been meaning to see if there is a statement from her somewhere in the Archives but if I could talk to her... When do we leave? I’ll get my coat.” 

Basira’s faced pulled into a grimace. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” 

“You just said--” 

“Jon, how do I put this delicately? You don’t have the best… bedside manner.” 

“I- I don’t see what that has to do with- with anything,” he sputtered. 

She gestured to the new skin of his hand standing out bright pink against the rest him. “I just don’t want you to get yourself hurt.” 

“I’ll be _ fine,” _ the Archivist insisted. “Besides, you shouldn’t go alone. You know better than anyone what Rayner’s people are capable of.” 

“That song sounded like a death threat to me.” 

“It didn’t specify the Archivist. You work for the Institute now, for the Eye. If it is a threat, you’re not immune to it.” 

“I have police training and years of experience. You don’t.” She spread her hands in front of her. “It would be easier if I didn’t have to worry about protecting you as well.” 

“I can take care of myself.” Jon crossed his arms and failed to keep the petulant tone from his voice. “It would be helpful if I could get some more information on The People’s Church of the Divine Host. The pieces I have of their story _ almost _ fit together but there are some missing bits. I just…” Jon let his arms fall to his sides. “I just have to know.” 

Basira chewed on her lip considering the pros and cons of taking Jon with her. A second set of eyes could be useful, but not if his mouth got them both into trouble. 

If you want Basira to scout it out herself: [Proceed to chapter 26](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47829310#workskin)

If you want them to go together: [ Jump to chapter 27](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47829421#workskin)


	26. 26 - Scout Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basira takes a walk in the park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

As she was tracking down leads, Basira suspected she would end up in some remote village in Scotland or something like the Outer Bay Shipping industrial park. Greenwich park made sense when she thought about it. It wasn’t far from Hither Green where Rayner had his church in the nineties and as a former astronaut, the Royal Observatory and Flamsteed House probably had some draw for her as well. 

Chasing down leads and stakeouts had always been Daisy’s thing, but Basira was getting used to doing it herself. She had planned on bringing Daisy along with her but Elias sent her out last minute on some mission she wouldn't talk about. It wasn’t the first time he’d sent her out, but the timing was suspicious. 

Basira shook her head, she couldn’t afford to think like that. Either Elias knew they were working behind his back or he didn’t, obsessing over ‘what if’s was a waste of energy and she didn’t have the time. 

She’d been at the park all morning with no sign of Dominguez. Back in the prison, Charles said she spent a lot of time there but it was a big place. Manuela could have been somewhere else or even taken the day off entirely.

It was nearly one o’clock and a cluster of people were gathering to watch the Time Ball atop the Flamsteed House drop. She hung back so she could keep an eye on as many people as possible. 

“You seem more interested in the people than in the clock,” A museum docent commented. “Looking for someone?”

Given her other option was staking out the park for days or even weeks trying to catch a glimpse of Dominguez, Basira decided the risk of potentially blowing her cover was worth the time saved. “I was looking for a woman named Manuela Dominguez, I know she comes here a lot. About 5’6’’, dark hair and eyes, I’ve read about some of the work she’s done and would love to chat with her about it.” She injected a bit of adoration in her voice when she added, “And how often do you get a chance to talk to someone who’s actually been to space?” 

The docent laughed. “Oh,  _ her _ . She’s here all the time but I usually only see her in the evenings. Sometimes she mentions dragging herself back from The Wilderness, though I think she just likes the name.” He leaned into whisper, “Always a bit dramatic, that one.” 

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Basira laughed, playing the part of a gushing admirer. 

“You can try back this evening or you could take a stroll around Deer Park trail, explore The Wilderness yourself.” 

\---

The Wilderness wasn’t as ominous as the name implied, just a lightly wooded corner of the park around a small pond with a recirculating fountain. The eponymous deer lived in a fenced in bit of park near one end. Deer Park trail meandered into the thickest patch of trees to the west before looping back around. Basira decided risking the shade was preferable to waiting until actual sundown and struck out along the path. 

This section of the park wasn’t even a half mile across, ten minutes should have been more than enough time to have come out the other side. It wasn’t a deep forest, but the trees were thicker than they should have been. The shift had come so gradually that she hadn’t noticed until all at once she realized something was very wrong. 

Basira turned around to go back the way she came only to find the path behind her shrouded in night. In front of her a street lamp flickered on, struggled weakly, then died. 

Basira pulled a heavy duty Maglite from her bag and flicked on the button with her thumb. It wasn’t just the light she wanted but also the reassuring heft. Even if it died, she could use the heavy handle to defend herself. Despite how the straps dug into her shoulder, right now she didn’t mind the weight of the extra torches in her bag

A self satisfied bark of laughter rang out only to be quickly muffled by the stillness of the wood. Basira narrowed her eyes and shone the torch around to the source of the voice. 

Manuela Domingues, clad in a black, flowing dress stood under a natural arch in the trees. The torchlight seemed to slip off of her like water on an oiled surface. The forest around her drank up Basira’s torch until she was left with only a weak beam struggling against the dark. 

“I remember you,” Manuela spat. “You were there the night he died.” 

Basira didn’t see any point in denying it. She stood up straighter and lifted her chin. “I was.” 

“You watched him…  _ dissipate _ , my Maxwell. And now I suppose you think you’ve come for me as well?” 

“Not exactly, I’m here to broker an alliance. We’d like your help, if you’re willing.” 

“Surely you jest? You’re with the Eye. You reek of Beholding, of  _ sight _ and  _ knowing _ the things in the beautiful dark that surrounds us.” She stepped forward and the darkness flowed outward with her.

The forest pressed in closer around them. Basira dug a second torch out of her bag but the light it offered wasn’t much better than the first. She stood her ground as Manuela approached. “I’m not with the Eye willingly, none of us are. I’m asking you to ally with us  _ against _ it.” 

Manuela drew up short with a look of surprise. “You’re not-- Oh that  _ is _ tempting.” 

Basira gave her a suspicious eye and asked warily, “So you’ll help?”

“Tempting…” Her smile turned feral. “But I think I’d rather have revenge.” 

One of the torches died in Basira’s hand. She threw the now useless metal at Manuela’s face and immediately dug into her bag for another. Manuela dodged and continued walking at an unhurried pace. 

The forest receded from the torchlight, parting to reveal the edge of the pond. The surface was glassy and still with a stagnant odor pricking at her nostrils. Basira was forced to the edge of the water with nowhere else to go. The path narrowed to the width of a single person filled with brambles and underbrush clawing instantly at her clothes. Manuela stopped a few feet in front of her, simply content to watch as Basira’s torches went out one by one until the last one was dead. 

Basira held the dead torches in front of her, ready to defend herself from an attack that never came. There were no sounds of breath or life in the darkness but Basira was sure she was inches away. The forest around her became a presence that was felt but never touched. Manuela waited in silence nearby. Basira was done waiting and struck out with the torch handle only hitting empty air. 

Freezing water lapped at her ankles and Basira jerked away with a cry. The darkness swallowed any echo her voice might have produced as the water splashed around her. Her foot caught in a root and she stumbled to her knees in the icy mud. Her muscles clenched in violent shivers as the cold clawed its way up her body. 

Manuela tried to push her head down into the water and Basira struck back. Her blow landed but the swing unbalanced her enough for Manuela to force her under. The mud beneath her fell away leaving Basira to freefall in the cold and the dark. The cold slapped against her chest and face making her gasp in shock and inadvertently pulling in a mouthful of foul tasting, brackish water. 

She coughed and struggled but there wasn’t enough air and her body wouldn’t respond in the cold. Manuala released her but instead of bobbing up to breaking the surface, Basira continued to sink deeper into the numbing cold and crushing darkness until it was all she ever knew and everything she ever was.

End of Branch

To try again with Jon in tow: [Proceed to chapter 27](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47829421#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: drowning, canon-typical violence, major character death


	27. 27 - Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Basira tour the Royal Observatory

“I expected something...” Jon shrugged. ”Well, darker, if I’m being honest.” 

The sky over Greenwich Park was cloudy but not overcast as they entered. The clusters of people out to enjoy the afternoon didn’t seem to mind that it was too early for the various gardens to be flourishing. 

“It’ll be dark enough soon. Keep your torch handy, just in case.” Basira brushed past him, leading the way toward the Royal Observatory. “The docent said he’d seen her near Haley’s tomb marker around sunset most days. Apparently they started having wiring trouble a few months back. Can’t keep the bulbs lit in the area for more than a few days at a time.”

“Well that certainly sounds like someone associated with Rayner and his cult.”

They reached the marker well before sundown but Manuela was nowhere to be seen. “Damn,” Jon cursed. “I was hoping we could do this while the sun was still up.”

“If I had been able to track where she was coming from we wouldn’t be doing this here.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” He gestured to the path around the Flamsteed House. “Shall we? We’ve already paid our admission.”

Basira shrugged and let him lead the way. They spent the next hour touring the Royal Observatory and wandering the grounds, frequently looping back to Haley’s grave with no luck. Shortly after sunset, an announcement was made that the Observatory would be closing soon and asked its guests to start making their way toward the exits. 

They were just about to give up when a dark haired woman approached them from the shadows of the doorway near the tomb. She all but ignored Jon but when she say Basira her eyes tightened into a scowl.

“You’ve been following me,” she accused. 

“Manuela Dominguez?” Jon asked. 

Manuela narrowed her gaze and finally focused on Jon. “I am.”

“You were on the Daedalus with Jan Kilbride and Carter Chilcot?”

A strange sort of look passed over her face as she tried to hold back her answer. “I was,” she finally ground out.

“Jon…” Basira’s voice was a warning. 

“You must be the new Archivist,” Manuela realised with a fake smile. “And you… I remember you.” Something in her eyes  _ changed _ , became harder. “You were there the night Maxwell died. You dare to desecrate this place with your presence.”

“Right, well now that we, ah, now that we’ve all been introduced I have a few questions,” said Jon, trying to drag Manuela’s attention back to him.

“Tread carefully, Archivist. That one has much to answer for.”

“I have a name,” Basira shot.

“I’m sure you do, and it will look simply striking engraved on your grave, but I have no use for it.” The light above Jon sparked out and died. 

“There’s no need for that,” Basira chided, unfazed. She pulled the heavy torch from her bag without ever looking away from Manuela. “We’re here to talk.” 

_ “He _ seems to think you’re here to ask.” Her eyebrow raised in disdain. “I gave my statement to your Institute years ago. So which is it?” 

Jon ignored her goading and pressed forward, pushing power into his words. “What do you know about Elias Bouchard?” 

“Elias? Fancies himself a threat but he’s too focused on what he can See to actually notice the truth. We were once allies with the Eye but those days are long since past.” 

Jon and Basira exchanged glances. “Allies?” he asked.

“Before my time, not my story to tell.”

“I see.” 

“You might think you do.” 

“What we came here to ask,” Basira interjected before Jon could start a fight with his retort, “is if you would be willing to go against him. We need him gone, but not dead.” 

“You need--?” She looked back and forth between Jon and Basira. “Can’t even inspire loyalty in is own people,” Manuela laughed. 

Jon grumbled. “Hard to inspire loyalty when you’ve being coerced,” 

“Even his very own Archivist? Well...” she clasped her hands in front of her with barely suppressed glee. “You’ll need someone to do his job once he’s gone. I want it.” 

“You what?” Basira asked. 

“B-but you--” Jon sputtered at the same time. 

“I want his job running the Magnus Institute. Someone will have to do it and it might as well be me.”

Jon was incredulous. “But you can’t-” 

“Do  _ you _ know how to operate a budget or manage a research organization? I have plenty of experience navigating the twists and turns of the academic world. I doubt either of you could say the same.”

“But  _ why?” _

“My church is scattered and gone. It’s time I accept that and move on. I want.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “His job.” Manuela’s dark eyes bore into Jon’s. “That’s my price.”

  
  


If you’d like to talk to Jude Perry: [Jump to chapter 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47827153)

Or how about exploring a run down gym in Aberdeen?: [Jump to chapter 21](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47828440#workskin)

If you’ve done all that: [Proceed to chapter 28](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47830294#workskin)


	28. 28 - It All Comes Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boss Battle
> 
> FIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end of chapter notes

Jon nearly used the wrong door to leave document storage before catching his mistake. Michael’s doors were manifesting sporadically around Jon’s office and throughout the Archives with alarming frequency. The whole thing was making him feel uncomfortably like some poor animal being toyed with by a predator more playful than actually hungry. 

He phoned Georgie and told her he wouldn’t be over for the next few days. He didn’t want to risk a new door showing up in her flat. 

“It’s fine, Jon. I promise I’ll start counting the doors if it will make you feel better.”

“Yes, but you know how the Admiral feels about closed doors. He’s gotten rather adept at opening the door to the toilet.”

Georgie sighed and conceded the point. “Stay safe.”

“I’ll do my best.”

\---

Jon didn’t know the plan, only that there was one and it would happen soon. The rest of them decided that if Elias was watching, which he probably was, he would most likely be focusing his efforts on Jon. It was safer for everyone if Jon stayed upstairs when they met. That was fine with him, after his stunt with the axe in Artefact Storage, he hadn’t exactly proven himself to be a master strategist. And the idea of being that close to Manuela in the low light of the tunnels made him… uneasy. 

The Archivist closed his eyes and tried to will away his migraine before it finished brewing. A door that shouldn’t exist behind him and the occasional giggles spilling from it made that task particularly challenging. 

\---

Jon knew it was time when Jude Perry sauntered into his office and planted her hands on his desk. Scorched wood and burning wax filled his nose when she leaned into his space. Jon’s burned fingers twitched in remembered agony and he involuntarily hugged his barely healed hand to his chest. She clearly enjoyed the way the Archivist pulled back from her as she inched closer to him.

“I’m ready for my statement, Archivist.” 

“Your statement?”  _ But I’ve already?  _ He fumbled for the recorder in his desk drawer. “R-right. I’ll just…” She stood there and watched him squirm until Melanie passed by and noticed them. 

Melanie pushed into Jon’s office and spoke in the most professional voice he’d ever heard her use. “Ah, Ms. Perry, there you are. If you’ll follow me, I have those items you requested.”

Jude maintained eye contact with Jon, giving him a smile that was all teeth. “Excellent. I’ll be right out. I’m sure the Archivist isn’t too busy to accompany us, is he?”

“I, ah.. No, no. Let me just…” Jon scrambled to get his feet under him and followed the two women out the door. 

“Right this way, Ms. Perry.” 

Jude inclined her head. “Thank you  _ so much, _ Melanie.” 

Melanie lead them to documents storage where Basira, Tim, and Martin were already waiting. In front of Martin sat a pile of statements. A majority of them were from the discredited section but the Archivist recognized more than a few that he had previously recorded on tape. 

“That’s not very many,” pouted Jude.

Martin stood up from his seat and offered it to her. “We have more set aside, didn’t want to ruin your, um, appetite.”

“Such the gentleman but I had a little something special in mind for my appetizer.” She turned to Jon and ushered him forward. “If you would do the honors?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t... no one told me--”

“The statements.” Jude smiled with vicious glee. “I want  _ you _ to burn them.” 

Melanie dropped her customer service persona. “I thought burning was your  _ thing. _ I figured you would want to do it. _ ” _

“Usually. But in this case, I think I’d rather watch the Archivist destroy something from his own collection.” 

Jon balked at the thought of burning anything in the Archives. It gave him an almost visceral reaction. “I- I- I’d rather not, if it’s all the same.” 

“We haven’t got all day, Jon.” Tim was losing his patience, everyone was, but Tim looked the most like he might punch him if Jon kept stalling. 

Jon fumbled in his pocket for the lighter he’d taken to carrying. The abstract web design felt right in his hand as he flipped open the lid and spun the striker. Jude handed him the first statement off the pile. He gripped it with white knuckles and forced his arm to bring it closer to the flame. 

As soon as flame touched paper a jolt of pain shot up his arm. He dropped the statement and instinctively stomped down on the fire. By the time he had his arm hugged against his chest, the pain was already gone. 

“What the hell, Jon?” Melanie was looking at him like he’d grown a second head. 

“I don’t know! It hurt and I couldn’t--” He gathered himself with a breath. “It hurt.” 

Jude was laughing so hard she had nearly fallen over. 

“You knew!” he accused.

She pretended to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. “I had a theory.” 

“Well what now? I assume burning the statements was part of the plan.” 

“Oh it still very much still is part of the plan.” She picked up the statement from the floor and put it back on the pile. “Martin, grab the rest of what you promised me and then you should head down to the tunnels. I’m going to have some fun.” 

“Y- You can’t!” Jon protested.

Basira laid an arm on his shoulder. “It’s already done, Jon. Let’s go.” She turned him around and lead him from the room. 

They were uncovering the trapdoor when a wave of agony brought the Archivist to his knees. Martin caught him under an arm his before he could collapse fully to the floor. 

“I need to go back,” he gasped. “Need-- I need to stop her.”

“No, Jon,” Martin soothed. “We have to go. I’m sorry it hurts but this doesn’t change anything.” 

Jon shrugged Martin off of him and struggled to his feet. He  _ needed _ to stop whatever Jude was doing. She was destroying the knowledge in the Archive! It couldn’t keep happening, something in him wouldn't let it. Jon forced himself to move through the waves of pain crashing over him.

“Martin!” Basira shouted. “Stop him! Don’t let him go back.”

“What do you want me to do, tackle him?”

“Oh-ho,” Tim sounded excited, practically joyful. “This is something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time.” 

Jon registered Tim’s running steps behind him moments before the other man slammed into his back, tackling him to the floor. “Get off me!” Jon yelled, thrashing to get free as Tim wrapped Jon into a bear hug and pinned him down. 

“Goddammit,” Melanie sighed when she saw Jon wasn’t giving up. “We’re going to have to carry him, aren’t we?”

“Looks like,” Basira agreed. 

\---

It took all four of them to drag the Archivist, kicking and screaming into the tunnels. Tim  _ might _ have dropped him that last bit to the floor but there was no proof it wasn’t entirely accidental. And if it wasn’t, who would blame him for a bit of pettiness after one of Jon’s wild punches caught him in the jaw. 

Jon still hadn’t calmed down once they had made it out of the Archives and into the tunnels. Basira had to cuff his hands behind him while Tim and Martin ended up practically sitting on Jon to keep him from trying to climb the ladder anyway. 

Twenty minutes later, he finally stopped struggling and sagged against the floor in sudden exhaustion. “I think,” he said in a voice ragged from his earlier screaming. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I think Ms. Perry has finished with whatever it is she was doing. You can-- you can let me up now.”

A chorus of voices all responded with varying shades of ‘no’. Though Martin did adjust himself so that he was sitting with most of his weight next to Jon’s legs rather than on top of them. 

“Shouldn’t we go up and see what is happening?” Jon asked. “Or... if we can help?”

Basira checked her watch. “Not yet.” 

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Martin started, too nervous or ashamed to look at him. “Does it still hurt?” 

“Not like it did. It was--” he shook his head then forced a smile and cheery voice. “It would be nice to get out of these cuffs though.” 

Martin threw a questioning look at Basira with all the force his brown eyes could manage. Turns out, she wasn’t immune to puppy eyes after all and threw him the keys. He fumbled them in the low light but found them easily enough and made short work of releasing Jon’s cuffs. The Archivist sat up with a groan and rubbed the circulation back into his wrists. 

Tim regarded him warily through narrowed eyes. Even in the low light the bruise blossoming on his cheek was starting to show. “Don’t think I won’t put you in a headlock if you try anything, boss.” 

Jon laughed but there was no humor in it. “I wouldn’t doubt it for a moment.” 

They watched Jon closely for signs of a relapse but none came. Eventually Basira relented and agreed that enough time had passed they could check upstairs and see how the plan was progressing. 

Jon was the first up the ladder. His muscles protested the movement but he needed to see what was happening more than he needed the recovery time. 

The Archives were dark but after spending half an hour in the torchlit tunnels, the emergency lighting was more than enough to navigate by. Cordite and burned paper made the air thick and sharp in his lungs but Jon couldn’t see any signs of an active fire. 

Muffled sounds of a struggle caught his attention and led him deeper into the Archives in the direction of the documents room. 

Now that they were closer, Jon could pick out melted plastic and scorched flesh with each breath. Basira followed close behind, her torch illuminating the smoke drifting through the air as it cut through the gloom. The beam stopped short of the open door as if it was hitting a pitch black wall. The darkness inside was somehow pushing back against the light to seep darkness around the edges.

Melanie had drawn her knife and was pacing back and forth. “We can’t help them if we can’t  _ see! _ Who thought bringing in the queen of darkness was a good idea? How are we supposed to know how the fight is going?”

Tim gestured to the shadows leaking out from around the door, stopping just shy of dipping a hand in. “I’d say the presence of _ that _ is a pretty good indicator things aren’t going well for our fearless leader.” 

There was a grunt from Elias followed by a crash and then Jude’s laughter. Jon didn’t need light to see now that he knew where to look. The darkness pressed in against Elias like a physical thing made of shadowed creatures with blurred edges. They wrapped around him, holding him in place despite how he strained against them. He was bruised and badly burned but his eyes shone brightly, scanning for his attackers in the dark. Defiant to the last.

“He’s right in front of you, Jude,” Manuela called from somewhere deeper in the room, far deeper than the room should have allowed. “Just past the desk. Have fun.”

Melanie continued her pacing, apparently unaware of the voices from within the room as the Archivist watched Jude with dawning horror. Jude barked her hip on the side of the desk but kept going, hands out, feeling for Elias’s face. 

He saw it too and renewed his struggles against the things holding him. Jon thought he might actually break free until tendrils of solid darkness curled around his head to lock it in place. They way they cradled his skull looked almost gentle but the pain twisting his features told another story.

Elias’s eyes met Jon’s just before Jude reached him. He might have tried to say something-- ask for help? Beg for forgiveness? Whatever it was was lost to his scream of pain as Jude’s fingers sank into his flesh. Jon watched, frozen, as Jude walked her fingers across his face like a blind woman attempting to map his features with her hands. 

“Nose, cheeks… Now where are those eyes? Ah! Here we are!” 

Elias squeezed his eyes shut but it wasn’t enough to stop her. Jude rested her thumbs gently on his closed lids, caressing his lashes until they burned away. Then she pressed in deep, cooking his eyes in their sockets.

The acrid smell mixed with charred flesh poured out from the documents room in a wave. Bile clawed at the back of Jon’s throat and he doubled over to retch on the floor. He was dimly aware of Martin pulling him back from the threshold and rubbing soothing circles on his back as he coughed and heaved. 

The lights in the Archive flared to life without warning, sending a spike of pain into Jon’s eyes. Judging from the groans and curses he heard around him, the rest of them didn’t fare much better.

Women’s laughter from document storage caught Jon’s attention. He blinked the tears from his eyes just in time to see Manuela and Jude drag a limp and defeated Elias past them in the direction of the tunnels. 

“Jesus,” Melanie breathed when she saw his face.

Manuela was genuinely curious, tilting her head slightly to the side. “What did you expect when you asked for our help?” 

Basira answered for her with a judgmental tone. “Something less sadistic, probably.” 

Jude laughed and adjusted her grip on Elias’s arm, pulling a choked noise of pain from his lips. She looked down in annoyance and kicked him in the side. “You’re the ones that wanted him alive. I could have arranged for a clean death.” She looked down and considered Elias for a moment before spitting in the ruins of his face. “Well, a  _ mostly _ clean death.”

No one spoke as they hauled Elias to the trapdoor and dumped him unceremoniously inside. 

“Won’t he starve down there?” Basira asked. “If he dies…”

“Got it covered,” Tim declared. He dug a protein bar from his desk, tossed it down after Elias, brushed his hands off, and walked away without looking back. 

Manuela smiled in an almost motherly way. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he continues to live a long,  _ unpleasant  _ life.”

“Pleasure working with you.” Jude offered Manuela her hand. “Give me a call if you ever want to do it again.” 

Manuela looked at Jude’s offered hand and quirked a perfectly groomed eyebrow. Jude dropped her hand with a grin and a wink. Manuela returned the smile. “I will. Besides, there is still that matter to attend to for the rest of your agreed upon payment.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten. I thought I would give you some time to get things in order before I come through and…” She brought her hands together and bloomed them outward in a small explosion. 

“I appreciate that. So long as you leave me with something left when your done.” 

“Of course, I wouldn’t leave these fine folks out of a job, now would I? Not when they invited me over for such a lovely time.” Everyone gave Jude a wide berth as she made her way out of the Archives. 

“Now that that’s settled...” Manuela turned to face them. “Would someone be so kind as to show me to my new office?”

\---

“Did you enjoy the show, Archivist?” Michael crooned. “I know I certainly did. I don’t have to tell you how many doors there are down there…” It let out a wistful yet contented sigh that sent shivers down Jon’s spine. “It would be a shame if the Blinded Watcher were to pass through the wrong one.” Its laugh looped through itself, somehow full throated and a giggle all at once.

“Michael,” Jon pushed up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, “please don’t… eat him-- or whatever it is you do. We need him alive.” When he looked back up again the Distortion had vanished. Perhaps already on its way to play with its new toy. Jon decided he’d rather not think about that.

He shook his head and returned to his work. A soot stained file now sat on his desk. Gifts from Michael should be ignored but the Archivist’s curiosity got the better of him and he opened it anyway. Inside was the statement of Manuela Dominguez regarding her unconventional religious beliefs and their intersection with her project aboard the space station Daedalus. 

Jon’s fingers unconsciously reached for his recorder and pressed down the record button. “‘I come to you with a warning- and an offer…’”

\---

“‘.... But we know what you're capable of. So consider this a challenge: I would love nothing more than to see you destroyed by the radiance of the dark sun we have created. So by all means do your worst.

Or prostrate yourself, both of you, before the Forever Blind, and perhaps you might be spared.

Maxwell and I await your decision with keen interest.’”

As the statement faded from his lips, the Archivist became aware of another person in the room. He looked up with dawning horror to see the woman he had just helped install as the head of the Magnus Institute sitting across from him, a satisfied smile playing across her lips. 

She saw the look on his face and leaned forward before he could Ask her anything to say, “Don’t worry, Archivist. I’m not going to kill you. I still need you.”

Hundreds of questions swirled around him, begging to be asked. In the end all was able to manage was a dry, choked, “Why?”

“You have to have heard of the Unknowing by now? While you were staging your coup, the circus has been preparing unopposed. It’s your task, Archivist, to stop them.” Manuela gave him a saccharine smile. “I need you to get to work on that as soon as possible.”

Jon’s brows furrowed in confusion as he grasped for the words he needed. “I- I don’t--” 

“First you should get some rest.” Darkness crept in at the edges of the Archivist’s vision, leaving only the face of the new head of the Magnus Institute as she leant over and placed her hand over his. “You’ve had a very long day.”

With the press of a finger, the tape recorder switched off.

  
  


End

Please continue to [ chapter 29 for art!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47839726#workskin) Updated with new art in [ chapter 30 as well!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47964325)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: eye trauma, burning, canon-typical violence 
> 
> You've reached the Final Ending, did you manage to find all eleven?  
Let me know how you did.
> 
> This is my first time tackling a project like this. Thank you for sticking it out and I hope you enjoyed it.


	29. ART!!! (Gabbi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful work of my artists Gabbi and Meredith! They're amazing and wonderful people who not only put up with my bullshit they made art while doing it!
> 
> LOOK AT IT!!!  
IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL!!!
> 
> (Gabbi's artwork is below and Meredith's is in the [following chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47964325))

picture by [Gabrielle Anderson](https://i.imgur.com/Ki6vBqh.jpg)

You can also find Gabbi on tumblr at [(Thaddeus-lich)](https://thaddeus-lich.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell them what a good job they did! I cannot stop screaming over it and neither should you


	30. ART!!! (Meredith)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful work of my artists Gabbi and Meredith! They're amazing and wonderful people who not only put up with my bullshit they made art while doing it!
> 
> LOOK AT IT!!!  
IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL!!!
> 
> (Meredith's artwork is below and Gabbi's is in the [previous chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177446/chapters/47839726)

Did you find all the endings? Here's something that might help with that!

Art by [ KingOuija (Meredith) ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOuija/pseuds/KingOuija)

(Not only was she working on this beautiful thing, Meredith also made [ A tutorial on scaling and centering embedded images!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20190493) and then walked me through how to use it)

You can also enjoy Meredith's fic[(KingOuija)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOuija/pseuds/KingOuija)  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell them what a good job they did! I cannot stop screaming over it and neither should you


End file.
